Bittersweet
by Lili-Mai
Summary: Emily Reynolds is a brilliant bio-engineer, but her life is turned upside down the day she is kidnapped by Albert Wesker; he is planning on using her for his own purposes... Wesker/OC. Rated M for some sexual content.
1. Chapter 1

_Finally, I've done it, I wrote the first chapter of my new story. I even got a plan going. I'm not sure how everything is gonna end, but anyway, at least I got something started._

_First off, I wanna warn everybody that I'm not an anglophone, English is my second language, I've been talking English for only 6 years now and that is cause my boyfriend didn't speak one work of my language when I met him. (Well, maybe except for "cliché", "déjà vu" and "ménage à trois"! XD) So bear with me if the level of English of my story isn't the greatest and if it could be written in 10 better ways._

_Also, I had to use some biology knowledge in this story, but the problem is, I only had two classes of biology in college and I was terrible at it. So to anyone that does have biology knowledge and read that story : I'm sorry! XD_

_This is merely a sappy/fluffy love story with lemon revolving around the two main characters. That's it: no action, no other important characters, nada. So if you don't like that kind of story, I can promise you, that isn't for you._

_Well, I'll shut up for the moment and let you guys read it. Enjoy! (Or not… XD)_

_Image for the story created with XNALARA. Credits for models used : Wesker made by James T Havoc, girl model made by cunihinx (both found on DeviantArt)._

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**Day 5**

Albert Wesker wandered slowly in the corridor of the HFC headquarter, his mind occupied on several biochemistry articles. All these articles had one single author: Dr. Emily Reynolds. The kid was a real genius; for a 26 years old woman, her career was extremely impressive. Already owner of a few post-doctorates, responsible for several subjects of research and a highly valued teacher in a renowned University. The perfect candidate to attract the attention of a pharmaceutical company that got their hands dirty, with research on bioweapons. Her latest research had particularly interested Wesker. She could be the key to bring the T-veronica virus to a new level. Alexia was truly a genius, and it seemed she was also the only one able to control the virus… The only thing they had accomplished in the last three months was to extract it from Steve's body. Other than that, everything they had tried to achieve ended up in a failure.

Unfortunately, Dr. Reynolds had a ridiculously high sense of morality. The several grease payments they had tried to push on her or the blackmail they tried on her had never convinced her to work for the company. Besides, she had no family left, barely any friends, no husband, no boyfriend; it was rather hard to blackmail her if there was no substance to use.

Wesker finally reached the room that contained what had held his interest for the last few weeks. He stopped himself in front of the door, wanting to be briefed quickly before joining in the play. He turned to one of his subordinates, well aware than the man feared him terribly, and ordered him, his voice cool and steady.

"How are things going? Has she finally started working?"

The guy seemed nervous, apprehending his superior's reactions.

"No sir, she is still refusing to work. Tom and Garry have been threatening her for several days, using physical attacks. We have even stopped feeding her, but nothing works... She has incredible willpower, sir."

Wesker sighed. He had wished his idea would have been lucrative quicker than that. It seemed he had to take care of the situation himself.

He was about to open the door when an idea crossed his mind. His body relaxed and an evil smile formed on his usually placid features.

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Emily Reynolds was lying on the bed of her cell. Her whole body was badly bruised; she could not find any comfortable position as every part of her body was sending tremendous pain through her spinal cord every time she even dared to brush against the bruises. She had cried herself dry, and strangely enough, even if she had been doing so for the last five days, there was always some tears left to get out.

She stared at the food lying on the floor: a tuna sandwich and a bottle of water. Although she was horribly hungry, she just could not bring herself to eat.

What a pitiful life she was forced to live now. Kidnapped in her own house… She wished she had been out on that Monday night they had knocked at her door. But then, they would have just came back on Tuesday… She could have tried to escape, to alert someone… But they had said if she screamed or let anyone know they were taking her against her will, they would kill them. She was terrorized by the idea of being responsible for someone else's death to save her own life…

Of course, if she accepted to do what they asked of her, it would be less painful, but she just could not convince herself to do it. This virus they wanted her to work on, she knew exactly what it would be used for: bioweapons. Why else would they want her to work on a virus? They certainly did not kidnap people to make them work on a cure… She just could not do it; it was against all her values. She possessed such great knowledge, and now she was reduced to enriching a company in creating dangerous weapons that could kill thousands of people…

She was provided with food, with a bed and with some of her clothes they grabbed while kidnapping her. Even her cell was not that horrible: she had a toilet and a shower hid by half a wall. But she had nothing to entertain herself with, not that she had time for it; she spent her day getting beaten by the guards…

Even if her head was going to explode from all the crying, she felt a new torrent of tears coming… She felt so miserable… Miserable…


	2. Chapter 2

_Sorry for the delay, with work it's hard to update quickly. It's most likely gonna be the pace I'm posting new chapters, like once per week, or once per two weeks. _

_Thanks Orchid-C for the review, btw:)_

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**Day 6**

Emily was sat at the counter of the laboratory, cradling her head in the palm of her hand. She sat there, completely bored. At least, today, she was not getting beaten to death… Instead, there was absolutely no one with her in there. Generally, at least one guard would stand there trying to convince her, in a rather violent manner, to work. She refused to cooperate; there was no way she was going to give them what they wanted… Bruises or not. Never would she participate in the destruction of lives…

As she was about to sigh for the fifth time in ten minutes, the automatic door raised up. Two guards came in carrying a man that appeared to be unconscious. They dropped him on the floor without much decorum, and then left right away, the door automatically locking behind them. Emily immediately ran to the man lying on the floor, wanting to bring him assistance. The man was badly bruised, blood dripping out of him. She shook him softly, hoping he would wake up with the aid of her treatment.

"Sir? Can you hear me?"

No reaction. She opted for treating his wounds, someone had to take care of them and she had no idea when he would finally recover from his unconscious state. She ran for the medical cabinet : there was not much in there to help her out, but she figured a cold wet compress, friction alcohol and band-aids certainly would not hurt. She came back to him, ready to apply her limited treatment. She sat on the floor, then rest his head on her lap. Recovering from the surprise of the situation, she finally noticed he was wearing sunglasses. She wondered why a man beaten badly and brought unconscious in a laboratory would be wearing those. She was about to remove them when she realized it must be for a good reason. Perhaps a medical condition. She treated his wounds as best as she could, then patiently waited for him to wake up.

Wesker had laid "unconscious" in Dr. Emily Reynolds' arms for over ten minutes now. He had let her heal his wounds, then had let her patiently await his awakening. Of course, he had faked the whole thing. He was certainly not unconscious and waited for the good moment to open his eyes. The longer he waited, the more believable his story would be. After fifteen minutes, he finally felt the moment of truth had come.

He opened his eyes, faking a painful awakening. She looked down at him, her long black hair half covering her worried look. She was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. She did not strike him as a "phenomenal beauty" but she was still a very attractive woman : something soft and vulnerable caught his attention immediately. Her small frame added to the vulnerability emanating from her : she was five feet three inches at the most. With just one look, he could tell she would be fairly malleable.

"Sir, are you alright?" she finally asked, truthfully concerned about his state.

"Yes," he said weakly, sitting up.

She stood up then offered her hand to help him stand up. He did not take it, stood up all by himself painfully. He had to take his role very seriously : she would like it if he had some pride, if he would favor offering his help to a pretty lady instead of taking it from her. He stabilized himself, holding on to the counter of the laboratory.

"What happened to you, sir?"

"Please, call me Albert."

"Nice to meet you, Albert," she says softly, smiling at him. "I'm Emily, Emily Reynolds," she said offering her hand to him.

They shook hands, her smile soothing.

"So, what happened to you, Albert?" she asked worried.

"I guess I did not give them the results they expected, so they wanted to _convince_ me to work harder. The last thing I remember is two guards beating me. I tried to fight back, but they were too strong," he smiled mentally at what he had just said. There was no way anyone would be stronger than the great Albert Wesker. "It seems they transferred me to this lab while I was unconscious."

He brought his hand to his forehand, his features tensed, faking an unbearable headache.

"Come sit down, please," she suggested to him, softly squeezing his arm with her hand.

He did so, so she sat right next to him, her look still concerned.

"I guess they expect us to work together," he finally said after an uncomfortable silence.

"I wouldn't mind the company," she answered jokingly.

"How long have you been here?"

"Five days."

"Four months for me."

"Wow…" she let out, astonished, staring absently at the surface of the counter. She realized she could be in here for as long as him… Maybe even longer. That was exactly the reaction he sought for : to convince her she was trapped in a prison for an undetermined amount of time. Maybe time would go by quicker if she occupied her mind with work.

"We should start working, they will notice if we lose too much time," he said worried.

"I'm not working for them…"

"I wish I could have that kind of liberty, but I don't," he said in his most serious tone.

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning, almost worried for herself.

"I mean that if I don't do everything they ask of me, they will hurt my daughter."

"What?" she asked dumbfounded.

"I wasn't the only one kidnapped, they got my girl too…" he said, a faint sound of sadness in his voice. Lying became a natural thing to him, but manipulating others was his true talent.

She brought her hand to her mouth, completely terrified by his statement.

"If I don't do everything they ask of me, they will hurt her…" he said weakly, staring at the wall with feigned despair.

His story got to her heart : she gathered the courage, then opened her mouth. Helping him mattered more than her principles right now.

"Then we will work, Albert. We won't let them hurt your daughter, I promise," she said concerned, covering his hand with hers.

"Thank you," he said softly, nodding.

It took him all his self-control to not burst in a cynical laugh. At long last, he got her…


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm so sorry for the late update, a lot has happened lately. First off, my mother came to visit me for a whole week, and like my computer is in the middle of the living room, I didn't really feel like typing some sexy story right next to her! XD Then my grandmother died, and of course I wanted to come to her funerals, but my home town is 5 hours from my new job, so I wanted a few days off to come here, but like I have a lot of work to finish for the middle of january, I had to do a lot of overtime in order to get the next week off. So in other words, I had next to no time to write the story. But now I'm off from work until december 27th, so I should have some time to write!_

_I just wanted to let people know that the pace of the story in the beggining is very slow, I'm just trying to "establish" the relationship between the two characters. I promise eventually it's gonna get much more intense. _

_Once again, thanks a lot for the nice reviews, I really appreciate them:) _

_Alright, I'm done with the babbling, here's the next chapter!_

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**Day 30**

Like any other day of the last month, Emily Reynolds entered the laboratory she was forced to work in. Like any other day of the last month, a guard was standing right next to the door, spying on their every move, making sure they were putting enough efforts in their work. Like any other day of the last month, Albert was already installed on the counter, attentively studying the effect of the virus they had injected into several types of insects. Like any other day of the last month, Emily hurried to sit right next to Albert, smiling warmly. She had known him for only three weeks now, but she already felt close to him, even though they had exchanged nothing more than a few words since the first time they had met. His presence soothed her mind; he was the only one nice to her, the only one that could understand her, the only one not here to exploit her. He did not know but, he was the only one that kept her working, the only one that motivated her to stay alive. Every morning, she looked forward to meeting him in the laboratories. Her sanity on the edge, she felt as if she had someone else to share her burden with, his mere presence the only thing giving her the courage to concentrate on the work that had to be done. But she was not passionate about her work; she hated putting her efforts into something she despised more than anything. But it saved the life of his daughter and saved him from worrying to death, so she continued on, hoping for an eventual piece of freedom for all of them.

She wanted to talk to him, to open herself to him a little bit more, but the guard frightened her. She felt uncomfortable sharing her fears and thoughts with him knowing "the enemy" was listening to her every word.

Wesker looked at Emily smile at him. He smiled back at her, forcing the expression out of his cold demeanor. Faking kindness and caring had been easier that he expected, but it still required a large amount of efforts for him to express anything besides stiffness and indifference on his apathetic features. He looked at her starting her work, noticed the fears and uneasiness in her every move. The guard was making her nervous; there was no denying it. This was not the only thing he had noticed: they had been working together for three weeks now and she was doing as told, the project slowly advancing, but she was not passionate about it. Of course, the only reason she was putting the slightest efforts into this was simply to help him out. His little story had not fallen into deaf ears, but she was clearly not exploited to her full potential. She was an amazing bioengineer and possessed more knowledge that he ever will. He had always been a gifted student in biology, but never would he come close to what she was. She was like Birkin and Birkin was no match for him.

If only he could trap her fully, bring her to her full efficiency. He had to think of something...


	4. Chapter 4

**Day 31**

Wesker entered the laboratory he had worked in for the last month, "forced in" by a guard. Today he was late, he generally gave himself an extra hour to get in before her to prepare for the day, but today he had certain "things" to plan. She was already installed, working attentively. Her expression changed quickly as she saw him join in. Her warm smile was replaced by questioning.

He faked to stare at where a guard would be generally standing, watching on their every move.

"Where is the guard?" he asked her directly, knowing the answer perfectly.

"I think he got replaced by a camera," she answered, pointing her finger at the device installed on the upper corner of a wall. "I guess we've been behaving well enough …" she stated sarcastically.

Wesker sat down to work with her. He still had not come with an idea to make her work harder, but removing the guard was a good start. Besides, his bosses did not like that he monopolized so many employees for his "little" operation.

They worked silently at first, sometimes, from behind his sunglasses, he would catch glimpses she was taking of him. He saw every one of them. Her look; it reminded him of how some of the women he got more involved with used to look at him… Obviously, none of them ever got their feelings reciprocated. Of course, it was far to be his intentions that she fell for him. It would jeopardize the whole operation. But her reaction was typical: he was the only one showing kindness in a very intense situation, the only one on her side… He knew he would somehow have to deal with this situation eventually.

She finally broke the silence, and saved him from his complete uneasiness over the awkward scene.

"I realized that I never asked you what your full name is… And we've been working together for over three weeks now," she asked, smiling shyly.

"Wesker. Albert Wesker."

"Thank you," she said, still smiling. "I'm Dr. Emily Reynolds, myself," she stated proudly, nodding.

"Doctor?" he asked frowning, feigning the surprise.

"Yes, I'm a researcher and a teacher at Northwestern University in biochemistry and bioengineering. Or I guess I should say was…" she corrected herself, her melancholy look on her features. "I guess some of my research must have attracted their attention… What about you Albert, why did you end up here?"

"I was working for them, trying to find a cure for a viral infection they had discovered. Then one day, they kidnapped me and my girl in my house and the day after, I woke up here, forced to work on this new virus…"

"You mean you know who they are?" she asked surprised.

"The pharmaceutical company, HFC. But it is just a facade; in fact, they are some kind of organization involved in the creation of bioweapons. That is some of the information I could gather from the guards within the seven months I've been here."

She looked shocked, almost skeptical, but finally came to a conclusion.

"I guess nothing's surprising anymore after what happened with Umbrella. All these scandals..."

He smiled at her, more out of irony than amusement.

"HFC, they tried to get me to work for them several times, offering huge pay checks for some sort of research on a cure to a virus," she remembered slowly frowning, talking more to herself than to him. "I suppose my several refusals only got me here…"

She got back to her work, focusing, until her curiosity picked up again.

"Albert?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you wear sunglasses all the time?" she asked timidly. It asked her a lot of courage to dare asking the question.

He realized he never thought of an excuse to give her or to give anyone else. His sunglasses: his trademark… He did not even realize that he was wearing them anymore; they were part of who he was. How long had he been wearing them now? It used to be to put a distance between him and the others, to put a barrier between his emotions and the perception of others, to help himself keep his cool demeanor. Now it was simply a way to hide his particular eyes. No one had ever bothered asking him that question. Probably out of fear. He had always been making people feel uncomfortable, drawing people away with his cold composure. Why would anyone really want to get involved with him? And it was perfect that way to him. Now that his "new" personality was much more agreeable, it was simply normal he would attract that kind of affection and attention. She simply cared about him…

"I don't want to talk about it," he finally stated, playing the pity card.

"Oh, I'm sorry…" she answered apologetic.

"Don't worry," he nodded, covering her hand with his. She turned red before removing it clumsily, then returned her attention to her work.

"Hmm," he thought to himself, "bad move. Do you really want to make everything even more uncomfortable?"

Somehow, it had just felt like the natural thing to do. He wondered, was that not what a nice guy would have done?


	5. Chapter 5

**Day 42**

He had thought of a way to make her more efficient for over a week now. He was a talented manipulator, but getting a woman to feel pity enough for him to go against all her deepest values was somehow a new challenge to him. He came up with a nice pathetic scenario, but he needed the ideal time to use it. Patience had always been his strongest weapon. People were so impatient in general. Planning required a lot of time and patience, that it was minutes, days or even years, it required the perfect timing. How many of his adversaries had he seen fail, while he succeeded every time. Today, he would be rewarded for his wait.

"How old is your little girl, Albert?" she asked out of the blue, making conversation while she was looking through the microscope.

"7 years old," he answered her, his face showing deep sadness. His acting talents were impressive for a sociopath with problems showing emotions.

"Your wife must be worried sick, the poor woman..." she added turning to him, not completely disinterested by his answer and trying subtly to fill her own selfish curiosity.

"She's dead..." he stated, his expression played to the perfection.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," she said, looking truly apologetic.

"Don't worry, it has been years now."

A heavy silence subsided for a few minutes.

"I wish I could say I ever had a husband, or at least someone to share my life with more than a few weeks. But I had none of that, I barely have any close friends and my parents have been dead since I've been a little girl, same for the rest of my family. Instead, I devoted all my life to my work... But check where it got me..." she sadly smiled at him, showing compassion in same time, the faint sound of regret in her voice.

He looked at her, recognizing his own story in hers. The only difference between the two of them was: he had no regrets. He smiled back at her, imitating her expression.

"Do you get to see her sometimes?" she asked worried.

"They allow me only a few hours per week, in a cold cell where they hold her..."

"Don't worry, Albert, we'll find a way to escape, you'll get your little girl back soon," she finally said, smiling warmly, wishing to bring him some hopes.

"No, we can't escape..." he answered despaired.

"I'm sure we can find a way, we have to be patient and plan everything carefully."

"I tried to escape... But they caught me, then to make sure I would never try to escape again..." he stopped himself, concentrating so his voice would release a hint of a sob to convince her of his honesty. He stared absently at the wall in front of him, adding some depth to his personal play. "They beat her, in front of me... They beat her and made me watch it. They beat her until she lied on the floor unconscious..." he let out in only a whisper. He stopped himself again, hoping his whole dramatic scene was believable. He had to play his cards properly. Her new found feelings were making him feel uneasy, but they could still be put to some good use. He turned to look at her, playing his part to the perfection. "She almost died, Emily, because of my foolishness..." he added, clenching his fists.

Her eyes showed compassion, anger and sadness. Growing tears had formed in the corner of her eyes, but she fought them back. It was at that very moment that he realized he had completely caught her in his story.

"Albert... This is terrible..." she said shaking her head in disbelief. She placed her hand on top of his and squeezed it softly, trying desperately to comfort him. "We'll do everything they ask of us, Albert. We'll work hard to give them their results and nothing will ever happen to your girl again, ok?"

He nodded, his features still showing sadness and fears. He hid his true emotions perfectly, because inside, he was laughing insanely. His plans had worked perfectly from the beginning; she would now do exactly as he wanted... _Everything_ he asked of her. This was simply _perfect_!


	6. Chapter 6

_I totally hate this chapter, first off, it was rushed, and secondly, it's a little bit too fluffy for my own tastes. But I have a plan and I'm trying to follow it. _

_I know the first few chapters of my story can be kind of boring, but it should get much better by chapter 9. It should get much more exciting by then, to write and to read. _

_Anyway, enjoy and review if you feel like it:)_

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**Day 68**

Yet another day at the laboratory for Emily. Yet another day over microscopes, vials and slides. Not that it was much more different than her everyday life two months ago. The only difference was that she did not believe in what she was working on. But it did not matter anymore, as long as she helped Albert... That was all that mattered to her now! She felt as if helping him out made her closer to him. She shared his burden with him, making it lighter for him. His despair had touched her greatly, and she finally had a new goal in her life. She felt useful, even if her actions and work were against all her beliefs. Even the slightest smile on his face convinced her she was doing the right thing. She was madly in love, and the smallest stupid thing he would do felt like the end of the world to her. She drank every word he said, hoping desperately her feelings would be eventually reciprocated. She dramatically hanged on to her feelings, because that was all she had left in life, that was the only thing they could not take away from her... In real life, she would have rationalized the whole situation, but as her sanity was slowly vanishing from her in her prison, she shot down any shred of common sense left within her mind.

She was looking through the microscope when what he had been waiting for for the last six months finally happened.

"Oh my God, Albert, look!" she exclaimed excited, taking her eyes off of the scene and forcing him to look through the microscope.

He looked quickly, hoping he had not been wrong to put so much hopes and efforts into her. She met his expectations greatly when he realized she had finally achieved to stabilize the virus. She had been able to stop the God damn thing from destructing its host completely. With this new discovery, they could finally inject the virus into more interesting hosts and make it worthwhile, just like Alexia did. He closed his eyes then sighed, having emotions that were truly his.

"Finally..." he let out satisfied.

It caused the usually so timid woman to suddenly jump into his arms, hanging on to his neck. Surprise took over him when he felt her body against his, but he still closed his arms around her, playing the game. But playing to which point? Her petite frame felt so in-place for the few seconds he held her. Her scent rose subtly to his nose, causing confusion in his mind. God, he did not need his hormones to play on him at the moment, he needed his full control to keep manipulating her for his needs. For a moment they stayed like that, until she slowly removed herself from his hold. He had not broken the spell, not wanting to raise any suspicions from her. "New" Albert should be having affection for her, or so he convinced himself of...

Realizing what she had just done, she quickly got back to work, her cheeks red, acting as if nothing had happened. He did the same, feeling saved to not have to explain this any further. This was enough embarrassing as it was... Christ, what had gotten to him...? He had to get a hold of himself... This whole act was slowly making him insane...


	7. Chapter 7

**Day 74**

As they say in French: "Les jours se suivent mais ne se ressemblent pas", but, in that very case, it was completely wrong. Every God damn cursed day pretty much all looked alike. Everyday, they would work at the laboratory from 8:00 to 9:00. Everyday, the camera would be observing every second of their life spent at the laboratory, producing the same infernal and insupportable noise. Everyday, she would sleep the same exact amount of hours, making the same exact dream of escaping with Albert and waking up at the exact same moment when they were finally breaking free. Everyday, they were served the same exact food: a diet meal bar in the morning, a tuna sandwich for lunch and another tuna sandwich for dinner. Indeed, this trend endlessly continued; today was no different from any other day. Emily stared wearily at her tuna sandwich Albert had brought to her after a guard dropped two of these carelessly on the floor of the laboratory. She felt as if she had so many of these that she did not even need to take a bite in it, the taste now stayed permanently "imprinted" in her mouth.

"Tuna again, huh?" she asked disgusted, taking the plain thing in her hand.

She sighed. In fact, the food they served her was the least of her concern about her new life, but, at that very moment, it felt as if it was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"I'm so sick of tuna sandwiches..." she let out, still staring at the boring meal. She sighed again. He looked at her silently, confused at how to handle this. "I'm so sick of this place... Of this life..." she finally stated, getting to the true root of the problem. Her voice trembled and her eyes quickly watered.

He finally sat next to her, put his hand on her back, then caressed slowly her back, trying to give her some comfort. Strangely, her cries brought a mix of annoyance and guilt to him and the pity and sympathy somehow came naturally. He had not calculated his move; he had just followed his instincts.

She felt the tears coming, but fought them back every time. She could not bear the humiliation of crying in front of "them", to let them realize they had finally "broke" her. Eventually, she could not fight the tears anymore; a few of them escaped her grasp and ran down her cheeks. She hurried to brush them off of her face then turned to Albert.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't complain, you're in a much worse situation than me," she said softly, apologetic. The scene was pathetic and moving all at once.

"Shhhhh," he reassured her, brushing a lock of her hair out of her vision. "If you need to cry, don't hold it back, Emily," he comforted her, the words coming out of his mouth escaping his full control.

Not being able to hold it anymore, she started crying again, tears falling quickly down her cheeks in torrents. Without warning, she crashed into his arms, hugging him tightly, finding a comforting shoulder to cry on. He closed his arms around her, convincing himself it was only for his "mission". If he gave her everything she wanted, her trust would be infallible and she would blindly keep working for him, right? Obviously, this was the sole reason he was holding her frail body in his arms...


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry for the delay, I had to start working again and I haven't really been in the mood for writing recently. Anyway, I'm FINALLY getting in the more interesting chapters, so that should motivate me a little bit._

_Once again, thank you very much for the nice reviews, they are always and always will be very appreciated! )_

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**Day 90**

There was no denying anymore that she had completely fallen for him; he had fully acknowledged it by now. The way she was now looking at him had grown in intensity over the last few weeks. He was her only lifeline, the only thing left she was living for. Everything had happened just as he expected it would, as always. As the only person on her side, the only one sweet and caring, the weakness of her state caused her to fall desperately for him; that was something already known by him. The only difference now was that he came to the conclusion that he could simply use it to his advantage. This way, she would keep doing everything he wanted of her if he continued to manipulate her efficiently. As long as he did not cross the line…

He looked down at her working; she was slightly more concentrated than usual. Today, she had been silent almost all day long. What he did not know was that she had been dying to ask him something, but had never dared to of the entire day. This day was almost over when she finally gathered the courage to make her request.

"Albert, I know I asked you that question before and you didn't want to answer me."

"About the sunglasses?"

"Yes… If you still don't want to talk about it, I will understand."

He stayed silent for a minute, trying to put more intensity in his acting, then finally revealed to her the "home-made" story he had come up with.

"They used me as a test subject…" he finally let out painfully.

"Oh my God… That's awful…" she said, feeling tears coming quickly. She just could not bear than anyone would hurt "her" Albert. She stayed silent for a moment, wondering if she should push the matter further.

"Do you know what they injected you with?"

"I have no idea. All I know is that it had no other side effects than transforming my eyes."

"Why did they do that?" she asked, frowning.

"They said that if I did not obey them, they would keep on injecting me with substances until I would be transformed completely and my daughter could not recognize her father anymore… I would become a deformed creature that would scare her off..."

She could not talk, too terrified to open her mouth. She felt as if she was going to cry, but held it back. He needed her right now; he did not need to have to comfort her…

"Let me look," she finally let out softly, hoping to bring him some self-esteem about it.

"No…" he answered, acting his voice dramatically.

"Please…" she pleaded him, covering his hand with hers.

Wesker hesitated a moment, wondering if it was a good move, then removed his sunglasses while looking at her.

She wavered a moment, looked at him intensely, biting her lips. Then finally, her hands rose, reached for his eyes. Her fingers moved around them freely, caressing his temples, his eyebrows, his cheeks. He finally closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of her soft touch on his skin. At last, she softly covered his eyelids with her fingers.

"I like your eyes," she stated tenderly, her hands sliding down to cup his face.

He reopened his eyes and looked at her deeply. She looked so strong yet so vulnerable. He loved that about her. One second, she had the willpower to stand against anyone ten times her size, and the second after, she looked as emotionally unstable as he was. He loved how weak she was, how easily he could manipulate her to his dearest wishes. He enjoyed the power he had over her, how desperate she was of him… How desperate he was to touch her… To touch that soft skin, her whole body trembling to be his, to kiss these full lips, seeking his desperately. How powerless would she feel in his arms, how powerful would _he_ feel.

As if he did not control it himself, his hand raised, caressed her cheek lightly. He quickly closed the distance between the two of them, unable to hold himself anymore, and brought his mouth to hers, desperate to savor the delicate taste of her lips. She welcomed the sudden affection warmly, her lips fully answering to his. She had longed for this moment for months now, but was too timid and frightened to trigger it herself. His softness got quickly replaced by unbridled passion as his tongue quickly entered her mouth, desperate to find hers, his self-control completely annihilated from his consciousness. She was the most delightful thing he ever tasted, a mix between sweetness and sourness, a forbidden treat he desperately sought for. His tongue slowly but firmly massaged hers, his moans echoing in her mouth and his hands roaming her body.

He suddenly broke the kiss after a few minutes, his conscious hammering in his head so loudly that he did not have any other choice that to stop himself. Strangely enough, the guilt had invaded him quickly. Not that he was not already betraying her terribly; using her morals, kindness and trust to get her to work for him, but somehow, crossing that line, even for him, was something unbearable. He looked at her, panting, his gaze lost and confused.

"We can't do that…" he finally said, panicked.

"Why?" she asked softly, completely oblivious at his internal fight.

"We just can't…"

"We are the only good thing left for each other in this God damn terrible life they force on us… Don't let them ruin that too, Albert…Don't let them take away the only good thing I have left… I need this… I need you, Albert…" she let out desperate, feeling the tears coming.

"_Fuck _the guilt," he thought as his hand slid in her hair, pulling her mouth roughly to his, his tongue desperately searching for hers. She gripped him firmly, securing herself in his arms, seeking comfort, love, affection… Anything that made her forget, even for just a slight second, her pitiful new life. The only place she could feel safe in this horrible prison was in his arms…

As the kiss was pushing the limits of decency, one of the guards entered the labs. They both stopped abruptly, just in time for the guard to not notice what had just happened.

"Back to your cell, both of you," the guarded ordered, motioning towards Emily.

Painfully, she walked to the guard, then stopped herself, turning to face Albert, wanting to say something. But nothing came out… Impatient, the guard grabbed her by the arm and roughly pulled her to the exit.

"Good night, Albert," she finally let out.

"Good night, Emily."

Once she had left, Wesker stayed in the laboratory for a moment, sitting at the counter, confusion and remorse going through his mind. He grabbed his head with both hands, oblivious at how to react with her from now on. After all, he _had_ crossed the line.


	9. Chapter 9

_Alright, next chapter, no more fake fluffy Wesker, he's gonna be back to the good old douchebad, just like we love him! ;o_

* * *

**Day 91**

Emily was sitting on the bed of her cell, patiently awaiting the guard that came to pick her up every morning. Her life had been quite repetitive for three months now, but yesterday its monotony had been broken, to her own pleasure. She had kissed him, and if it had not been for that cursed guard, they might have gone even further. Or not, because it might have been a rather awful idea to have sex while being observed by your assailant. But, her sanity gone at long last, she felt she would die trying, even if it was the last thing she did, because that was all she had left… His tongue roughly stroking hers, his hands groping her body, his moans in her ears… She had not felt so alive in several years.

She was waiting patiently for the guard and for the first time in three months, she was excited to see him. She was excited to be brought in the laboratory. Today, the same guard, which she had never bothered to ask his name because she never exchanged more than a few words with, the same guard she had dreamed to punch and kick in the family jewels, the same one that had beat her on her first week here, this guy, she just could not wait to see him again. He would bring him to her own small paradise: Albert.

Her heartbeat accelerated in excitement when she heard the guard's footsteps in the corridor. She stood up and walked quickly to the door, trying to save as much time as possible. Suddenly, she heard voices: his and the voice of someone else, coming out of what seemed like a radio. Emily tried to focus on their conversation, the voice coming out of the radio strangely reminding her something. The voices were so muffled that it was making it difficult for her to understand the conversation. She placed her ear on the door, hoping it would help her out.

"… I won't be coming to the labs today. But I still want her there working. Stay in there with her for the day," the voice on the radio ordered the guard.

"Yes, sir."

"And Robert, make sure she is working properly," he insisted.

"Will do, sir."

Emily's face turned pale; her heart stopped beating for a second. She had recognized the voice immediately: it was Albert's. Although it was different than usual: more cold, more distant… But it was still his, none the less, she was convinced of it.

Why would he let the guard know he was not going to the laboratory today? Why would he give him orders? He was supposed to be their slave, just as she was… There was only one reason: he was not working for them, they were working for him… He had used her, manipulated her so she would enslave herself for him. He had even made her believe he had feelings for her… She kissed him… Kissed the man that made her life miserable for three months now… She was even willing to give herself to him… How could she had have been so naïve? How could she had have let that happen.

Hearing the card key being inserted in the lock of her cell's door, Emily snapped out of her surprise, brushed the tears that had unconsciously fell down her cheeks, then moved back to her bed quickly. The guard must never know she had heard his conversation. She wanted her vengeance, and to do so, it was necessary that no one knew she was well aware of Albert's deceit.

* * *

Bob Charest had been waiting for his boss to finish his phone call in the waiting room of his office. He had just brought Emily back to her cell for the night and his boss wanted him to report on the day. Wesker wished to make sure Emily had not raised any suspicions over his absence today. It made Bob terribly nervous to have this meeting. Wesker was known for his rather unusual way of leading and he left no place for mistake, unless you wanted to end up dead on the side of the road. He knew perfectly he stood no chance if he infuriated the man. The guy could snap his neck in a heartbeat with just the pressure in his hand. It was a chance the God damn pay check was so huge…

"Come in, Robert," he heard from behind the door. Bob entered his boss' office, concentrating on making his hands stop shaking.

"Sit down."

He did so.

"I was just curious if she asked you any questions about the fact I wasn't here today?"

"Actually, she didn't even mention it."

"Hmm…"

Wesker stopped himself for a few seconds, trying to think of the situation.

"Had she ever talked to you before?"

"Not really. The first few days she was here, she had been panicked and asked where she was and what for, but nothing else. Since you've been there, she seems to rely mostly on you."

"Hmm… She was probably only too scared to ask you then."

He kept thinking for a moment longer, then felt there was no need to discuss the matter anymore.

"You can leave, Robert," he stated until something suddenly came to his mind. "By the way, Robert, I've seen the bruises on her forearm. Try to be less rough with her next time, will you?" he let out, his statement a rhetorical question. His tone was extremely threatening.

"Yes sir, I'm sorry sir," he said apologetic, swallowing.

"You're dismissed."

Wesker stayed in his office a moment longer, still thinking of what to do with Emily. Their little incident of yesterday still seemed like a displeasing problem to him. He had no idea how to react with her anymore… Today's several meetings with his superiors had saved him from having to face her, the event still fresh in his mind, but he just could not put it off any longer. He felt trapped in his own plan.


	10. Chapter 10

**Day 92**

Wesker and Emily had been working for over an hour in the laboratory by now and Emily had been abnormally quiet. Every time he looked at her, she avoided his sight. He had noticed every detail about her that would appear as suspicious. Her hands appeared to be shaking, she breathed irregularly and her features seemed tensed. At first, he had wondered if she was ashamed of their little _romantic_ moment. But no, something was just not right. He would be patient enough to wait for the moment she revealed herself to him.

It took Emily all her self control to not yell at Albert her anger, but she was far too convinced getting her vengeance was the right thing to do. She tried to act normally, but her hatred had been terribly hard to cover up. She hoped her pitiful acting talents had been enough for him to not suspect anything. She had finally come to her senses, her sanity freshly restored. She felt ashamed for falling so easily for this man… But now was too late for regrets, now was time for vengeance…

The moment of truth finally came; Wesker was looking down the microscope. Emily grabbed a scalpel and got ready to stab the _traitor_ with it. If he died, they would most likely beat her to death, but she did not care, what else did she have to live for? Nothing… She was going to die making him pay, but it would be a worthwhile death to her. She raised her arm, then stabbed at him as hard as she could. But the moment the knife was about to penetrate his skin, something unexplainable happened. In the blink of an eye, he had turned, then grabbed her wrists, exerting an unbearable pressure on her bones. Shocked, she whimpered, wincing under his hold, unable to take it anymore. The knife dropped on the floor, the sound of the metal hitting the hard floor echoing in the entire room. He understood what had just happened right away. _That_ was the reason behind her strange behavior.

She had never felt such a horrible physical pain in her entire life, but it did not stop her from screaming her hatred at him.

"You FUCKING LIAR!"

An evil grin showed on his face; he appreciated the moment to its full extent, loving the feeling of liberation it brought to him. He was finally free from the woman that had caused him so many headaches. After looking at her in pleasure struggling to break free, he finally took a more serious expression.

"How did you find me out?" his voice came out cold, distant and composed. It was so different than usual… As if it was a completely different person that had just talked to her.

"The guard that picks me up every morning, I heard him talk to you over his radio. I was close to the door of my room and heard the whole conversation."

"I guess Robert will have to die," he thought to himself.

For a moment they just stared at each other, all her features filled with anger, his with amusement.

"Asshole!" she yelled, not being able to contain herself anymore.

Wanting to teach her a lesson, he pushed her to the floor savagely. She whimpered as her butt and back hit the cold floor violently. He walked slowly to her then crouched down, looking at her like she was simply his prey, his features menacing. His head tilted, he stared at her and observed her reactions, his silence heavy.

"Who are you, anyway?" she finally asked.

"My name really is Albert Wesker," he stopped himself at first, still observing her. She impatiently waited for the rest of his story, so he filled her curiosity, feeling he owed it to her after all. "For years, I was a researcher for Umbrella Corporation, working on their underground research on bioweapons. Unfortunately, the paycheck was not satisfying enough and they underestimated my talents, not to mention that I did not want to sink with the ship. So I found a new employer that would meet my expectations to a greater extent. They offered me more power and more money. So far I'm pretty satisfied with my advancement, but I needed to prove myself by obtaining the T-veronica virus and making it a powerful weapon. That is where you came into play, my talents were not enough to complete this task, but yours were. As you declined any of our offers, you left me no choice but to force you to work for us."

"So you never had a daughter, right? Absolutely nothing you ever told me was true?" she asked right away, even though she already knew the answer. She just had to ask, she just had to hear it from his own mouth…

Her questions amused him. "Of course not," he grinned, proud of himself. "I knew my little story would hit hard on your overflowing sense of morality."

"Asshole!" she yelled again, feeling the tears filling her eyes.

"Enough!" he stated firmly, grabbing her arm and forcing her roughly to stand up. He brought her to her bench and urged her to sit down. "Enough discussion, we are losing our time. Now, you work," he ordered, leaving no place for disobedience.

"Fuck you!" she yelled before spitting in his face.

His patience was tested out greatly. Instead of punching her in the face smashing her skull like a watermelon, he slapped her, not enough to really leave any great physical damage on her, but enough to leave a red mark on her cheek for several days. He had to show her he was in control, he had to show her there would be no insubordination tolerated. She covered her cheek with her hand, humiliated and hurt all at once, but stayed still, determined to not spend another minute of her life obeying this man. Tired of her attitude, he grabbed her arm. His grip was so tight that she felt her arm could be reduced to nothing if he applied just a little more pressure. He wiped her saliva off of his face with his other hand, then moved her along with him, making her almost trip from his quick pace.

"Fine, I'll bring you to your cell for the moment. You need to cool down, Miss Reynolds."

Emily struggled to break free, but there was no point, his grip was too tight for her meagre strength. She tried to kick and punch him, but he evaded all her pathetic moves. When he had enough, he lifted her on his shoulder, her head upside down, and held her legs even tighter than he was holding her upper arm. Then finally, they reached her cell, her agony coming to an end. He shoved her in roughly, then slammed the door behind him without even bothering to say anything to her. Left with no other choice than to feel miserable, she crashed in her bed and cried herself dry…

* * *

Emily had been crying for a good two hours now. She was feeling so miserable. Albert was the only thing she was hanging on to, and now there was no more Albert. Instead, there was a hole inside her. The hatred had left her empty. Her vengeance was the only thing she had left and she failed to attain it.

She heard the door open, but did not even bother to look who it was. She stayed on the bed, laying her head on her pillow filthy with her tears. A guard came, a different one than usual, Robert was already dead… He left a plate of food on the floor then left immediately. She finally turned her head and looked on the floor, seeing the tray of food. Not a tuna sandwich, but a plate of spaghetti. What were they thinking? That bringing her some decent food would make her forget all that happened?

She started crying again, desperate for any kind of comfort. But there was none… There was nothing left… Nothing. What was the point of living anymore? She would never get her freedom again. This Albert Wesker would not allow it. Actually, when he would be done with her, he would most likely kill her… If she was doomed already, she could simply end her life right now. At least, this way, she would not have to suffer any longer. She could try to make a rope with her clothes, but where would she hang the thing? She had no sharp object, and making herself drown was not possible: it was against human instinct.

Her eyes suddenly fell on the metal tray holding her food. Maybe if she broke the thing, maybe it would be sharp enough to cut her wrists, maybe she would finally find an escape. Her escape...

Inch by inch, she bent the tray, using the frame of her bed to help herself, placing the thing on the floor and stepping on it to bend it further. It took her a good two hours to get it to break. Like a prisoner, she was patient, patient for her escape. Though her personal escape was a little bit different than the one of a typical prisoner.

She looked at the sharp metal piece, her hands trembling. There it was: her only salvation, her escape from her miserable life. She closed her eyes, then pressed it firmly on her left wrist, moving it down. It was amazingly painful and tears escaped her eyes, but she did not care, she kept going. When the first one was cut enough, she proceeded with the second one. Her job finally done, the pain almost unbearable, she moved quickly before she left too much blood all over the place. She left the plate of food on the floor, hid the rest of the tray under her bed, then laid on her bed, covering herself with the blanket. It would take hours until she lost all her blood and finally died. If someone came in, they had to believe she was sleeping. After a few minutes, she drifted away… drifted away to an endless night...

* * *

Wesker was sitting in his office, unable to concentrate on his work. It had been hours since he had left her in her room, but he still could not get the whole scene out of his mind. Maybe he had gone too far with her? After all, how was she supposed to continue her work if the whole plan had failed. He had to talk to her, to calm her down. Somehow, maybe he could convince her to work for them. Maybe he could come up with a new story, maybe she would be stupid enough to believe it again…

He left his office and walked slowly down the corridor, trying to come up with the words that would convince her. He finally got to her cell, then knocked on the door. No answer. He proceeded in, only to see her sleeping on the bed. He was about to leave, figuring there would be a better time to talk to her, when he noticed blood on the floor. Surprised, he stared at it, puzzled at what might have happened, then he realized it was dripping from the bed. Quickly, he ran to it and removed the blanket she had rolled herself in. He only saw her back, but he could see the bed was drenched with blood. He turned her around only to realize she had cut her wrists. Frantically, he searched for her pulse: it was weak, but it was still there.

His heart was beating fast, he was almost panicked. There was no time to lose. With his astonishing speed, he left the cell with her in his arms, climbed ten floors of the base through the staircase and brought her to the infirmary.

"I need help!" he yelled seeing no one at the entrance of the small emergency room of the headquarters. Hearing such a phrase from Wesker's mouth was very unexpected.

Having heard his plea, the doctor in charge that night and a few nurses came to his rescue.

"What happened?" the doctor asked, frowning at the girl in Wesker's arms, but still keeping his calm in the situation.

"She tried to kill herself, I don't know how long it has been but, her pulse is very weak. She lost a lot of blood."

Not losing any time, one of the nurses had left the room, bringing back a stretcher. Wesker put her down carefully, his movements delicate, unusual of his personality. The nurses brought her to the operating room, followed by the doctor.

"You better save her!" he threatened the doctor looking at him entering the operating room.

"We'll do our best, Dr. Wesker," he stated calmly before disappearing in the doorframe.

Wesker stood up there for several minutes, paralyzed, his heart still beating fast. He realized panic had overwhelmed him, his generally cold demeanor replaced by complete fear. The time he had felt such emotions in his life could be counted on one hand…


	11. Chapter 11

**Day 108**

Emily was strapped to a hospital bed, as if she was one of these mental cases. As the medical department was low on security, they wanted to make sure, if she woke up, that she would not try to escape. Or she might actually try to kill herself a second time…

Wesker sighed at the idea. Although Emily was somewhat "saved", she had been in a coma for two weeks by now. The doctor said she was out of danger, but he had no idea when she would actually wake up. There was not much that scared the _great_ Albert Wesker, but he had to admit, when he saw her limp body, her cut wrists and the bed covered with her blood, something inside of him got terribly frightened. He had washed away the feeling quickly and had taken control over himself. But the feeling had still come to him and it puzzled him. Why would he care for a woman? On top of it, a woman so weak… If he was to fall for someone, he would have thought it would be someone like Ada: strong, independent, confident and a little bit feisty at times. He despised weak people… Shameful to the human race… Yet, they were always so useful to him. So, did he simply still want to use her or was it something else…? He sighed again, what had gotten to him? He looked at the machine helping her breathing. If he pulled the plug, he would be rid of her, the distractions she had caused him would be over. But he just could not bring himself to do it…

He realized he was dying to touch her. There was something about the situation that was allowing him to show more affection than if she was conscious. His hand slid on top of hers, squeezing it lightly. He looked at her seriously, her hand cold in his. For the last two weeks, he had visited her everyday. Sometimes, it would be for a few minutes, others, for a couple of hours.

Suddenly, her eyeballs started moving under her eyelids and she started moaning. Quickly, he removed his hand, hoping she had not noticed he was holding hers. He waited a few seconds to analyze her state. She finally opened her eyes, obviously confused and weak. Wesker instantly got out of the room and ordered loudly the doctor to come.

The doctor ran to the room and noticed immediately the woman had woken up. Carefully, he removed the device covering her mouth, then proceeded to examine her; verifying her pulse, running that annoying light through her eyeballs, checking on her general state. The whole procedure took several minutes, minutes where Wesker was slowly losing his patience.

"Miss Reynolds, can you hear me?" the doctor finally asked.

She nodded weakly, then released a barely audible affirmation with some difficultly. She looked at the Doctor, then at Wesker. Painfully, she recognized the too familiar face and looked away.

"Where are we?" she asked weakly, getting any words out was amazingly painful, her throat had never been so sore.

"In the medical department of our headquarters. Do you remember what happened, Miss Reynolds?" the doctor asked.

"Yes, unfortunately," she answered, looking at Wesker, her eyes showing deep sorrow.

"Dr. Andrews, if she doesn't require immediate medical assistance, I would appreciate that you leave the two of us alone for a moment."

"Yes, sir," the doctor answered, not daring to disobey his colleague. Dr. Wesker was known for his limited patience.

"Dr. Andrews, how long until she can leave the medical department?" Wesker suddenly asked before the doctor completely left the room.

"I need to do a few tests, but she will most likely need to be under observation for at least one week."

"I leave you one week exactly, nothing more," he ordered coldly.

The doctor sighed, not able to gather the courage to argue with his colleague, then finally left the two _lovebirds_ alone.

Her pulse accelerated: being alone with Albert made her terribly nervous. She had no idea anymore what he was capable of… He walked to her slowly, his gaze menacing. Self-defence hitting in, she tried to move back on her bed. It's at that moment she noticed her hands were strapped to the bed, like it was one of these mental institution's beds. Left with no other way to protect herself, she turned her head, looking at the plain concrete infirmary wall.

"I guess I wasn't lucky enough…" she whispered almost to herself, still looking at the wall.

"You're right, Miss Reynolds. Your existence will cease to be the moment I decide so."

She turned her head to look at him, her gaze furious and hurt.

"Who found me?" she finally asked.

"I did."

"Why didn't you just let me die?"

"I still need you, Miss Reynolds. You're a brilliant bioengineer."

"Oh, because you think I'm gonna keep working for you now?" she snapped at him, resolved to keep her dignity.

"I'm afraid you don't have that kind of choice, Miss Reynolds."

"I just won't! You can't force me, I don't care if you hurt me!" she tried to yell at him, but her throat and lungs did not let her. Instead, it came out as some croaky protest.

Within half a second, she heard a whistle, then he suddenly appeared right in front of her, his face a few inches from hers, his body leaned over the bed. In his quick movements, he had grabbed her jaw with one hand, applying an uncomfortable pressure on it so she could not turn her head. She was forced to look at him…

"Miss Reynolds," he hissed in between his teeth, his voice only a whisper; a threatening whisper. He looked cold and emotionless, but completely insane in same time. "I will personally make sure you do _everything_ as I say. If you don't obey me, I will torture you with no mercy. Oh, but I won't kill you… I know perfectly that's all you're asking for," he stopped himself, then ran a finger down her cheek. His finger was so cold, she wondered if it was the reflection of his empty soul. She heard the leather of his gloved hand cracked, covering the sound of her panicked breath. "Instead, I'll make you suffer, torture you until you think you can't take it anymore, until you're on the verge of death, then, I'll let you rest. But only until I can torture you again, and again," he paused for a few seconds, looking at her tortured features, enjoying the look on her face. "When I'll be done with you, Miss Reynolds, your dearest dream will be to follow every one of my orders. I will _personally_ take care of it." He stopped himself again, still observing her, taking great pleasure in her reactions. He could easily tell she was truly scared, his threat had fallen through. "I bet you wouldn't like the man you love to torture you, now would you, Miss Reynolds?"

"Fuck you!" she whispered, her hatred giving her the strength to spit her venom at him.

He suddenly grinned, satisfied with the reaction his question brought. He then took a mocking expression, as if he was faking pity.

"Poor Miss Reynolds, reduced to being tortured by the man you love. Such a _sad_ ending to a _lovely_ story," he suddenly said, trailing languidly on his words. He chuckled, seeing the frustration and sorrow on her features. She had closed her eyes, his words just too painful to hear. He finally let her head go, so she took that opportunity to turn her head, her eyes fixed on the plain wall. Tears had formed in her eyes and she could not bear the humiliation of letting him see how much he had afflicted her. She could not believe she had fell for that man; he was so different from the man she learned to know… The complete opposite, actually.

He rose slowly, still staring menacingly at her.

"Are you gonna throw me in another dirty cell?" she asked, still looking away.

"No. You are far too unstable to be left alone again. I will bring you to my quarters," his voice was back to the coldness it normally showed, a coldness she was only starting to get used to.

"What?" she asked surprised, turning back to him, the shock bringing back some of her vigor.

"Would you rather be tied to this bed in a prison cell, Miss Reynolds? Because, if it is the case, I can arrange that for you."

She stayed silent, hurt and tired of his cruelty.

"Well, Miss Reynolds, I'm _quite_ pleased with your awakening, but like you most likely need some rest for the moment, I will spare you further time in my company.

He bowed, almost mocking her, keeping his eyes on her the whole time, then left.

She closed her eyes, feeling the tears finally escaping her eyes. "I can't still be alive," she thought to herself, "because that sure feels like I'm already in Hell…"


	12. Chapter 12

_I'm sorry for the very very late update, it took me 10 months to finally write a new chapter... I hope the few people that were interested in this story are still here to read this new chapter! X_x_

_Anyway, after my wedding, my honeymoon and loss of inspiration, I finally decided to force myself to write this chapter hoping it would all come back to me. It's certainly not the best chapter I wrote, but it's a start! Enjoy!_

**

* * *

**

**Day 113**

Wesker had picked her up at the infirmary this morning, to bring her directly to the lab… Two weeks in a coma, one week where she hardly recovered, her balance still off, to be forced to work, once again, from 8:00 am to 8:00 pm, on a virus that could potentially kill thousands on lives. He was making her work like a slave, or should we say, work as a slave… She had done every single thing he asked of her: she was terrorized by him and certainly did not have the willpower left to fight back. Nor the health. The day was finally over, the excruciating pain in her legs was killing her and all she cared about was to collapse in a bed while sharing as few words as possible with Him.

They finally arrived to what he called his "quarters", which was inside the headquarters. Anybody working for the company had to live on the site. Wesker was pretty satisfied with this situation: there was no way the obsessive sociopath could lose a minute of his precious time to travel morning and night to his job, minutes he could use to work.

He unlocked the door to reveal a simple studio apartment lacking any fantasy. To her right was a modest leather sofa with a few bookshelves. Right next to the sofa was a door to presumably the bathroom. To her left was the kitchen, including a small counter, a few cabinets. a fridge and a small kitchen table. And further down was a single bed with more bookshelves. A real plaza… Not that it mattered, she would rather live in a dirty hole by herself than live with him in a castle fit for a princess.

Then she realized it : a single bed… Nervously, she asked, hoping he did not have any perverted ideas in mind :

"Where am I gonna sleep?"

"On the bed. I will sleep on the floor."

They both stayed silent for a moment, discomfort permeating the room. She felt uneasy, so did he. He did not want to have to resort to that solution, but she was too unstable to be left alone. And leaving her strapped to a bed all day long could affect her mental sanity pretty badly and he needed her fully operational.

"As you will notice, the bathroom door has a lock, from the outside. I am the only one to possess the key," he stated, flashing the keys to her. "That is in case of an emergency. I prepared myself for your arrival, this way, if you're being a bad girl, I can lock you up," he grinned, fully aware she looked at him in terror. "Don't worry, you will have all the privacy you need, I won't "surprise" you in there," he added before chuckling. "I've placed your clothes in the basket over there," he finished, pointing towards it right next to the bed.

There was another long and painful silent moment, then he ordered her around.

"Go sit on the bed."

"What? What for?" she asked, almost panicked.

"Go sit on the bed," his tone was serious, he would not repeat it twice.

She did so, then looked at him as he walked towards her, slowly. She was terribly nervous: what if he tried his way with her? The idea of his cold hands, his brutal touch molesting her body was one which made her shudder with revulsion. She looked at him in terror, awaiting the fatal moment, then closed her eyes, not sure if she could support looking into his eyes while he savaged her body. She felt his hold on her wrist, whimpered from his touch, then heard a clicking noise. She opened her eyes, only to see him walk away from her. She looked down at her wrist: her hand was handcuffed to the headboard. Uselessly, she pulled the thing, more out of reflex than logic, the noise of metal clanging on metal echoing in the room.

"You're gonna tie me to the bed? How is that better than being tied to a hospital bed in a cell?"

"If you would prefer that option, Miss Reynolds, I can arrange that for you."

She stayed silent, watching him sit in his chair, grabbing a document in one hand to read it. He was obviously getting ready to ignore her.

She sighed, then laid on the bed. There was no point in arguing with him, he would never let her win…

* * *

A few hours had passed, and Emily was bored out of her mind. Staring at the ceiling had never been her favorite activity and turning over everything in her mind repeatedly had given her a headache. She would rather forget her unfortunate situation, but having nothing to do did not help.

Her body started trembling and she suddenly realized she was freezing. She could not even tell if the heat was working, but seeing as it was 5°F outside, she certainly would appreciate some warmth. Her teeth started chattering, the sound it produced could be heard in the entire room. She rolled herself in the blanket, but it did not stop her from shaking.

"Are you cold, Miss Reynolds?" Wesker asked casually, noticing the unbearable sound.

"I'm fine," she snapped.

"Being stubborn won't get you anywhere with me," he stated calmly, his attention back to what he was reading. Although, he could just not concentrate, the sound of her teeth chattering was too irritating. Being the man of little patience he was, he stood up, grabbed a sweatshirt out of his dresser and threw it at her without much decorum. He then walked to the thermostat without even taking a look at her, opened the heat, went back to his chair and proceeded to resume his reading. He finally stated, not even bothering to take his eyes off of his document, in an emotionless and cold voice so familiar of him :

"If you need something, just ask for it. I will be the one judging if your inquiries are reasonable or not."

"Aren't you cold yourself?" she finally dared asking, her curiosity killing her.

"I can't feel cold anymore."

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning.

"The virus running through my veins, it annihilates any physical pain I could be feeling."

"The virus?"

"My eyes, they are a side effect of a virus."

"So you did get infected by a virus?"

"No, I injected it myself," he announced, the words coming out of his mouth as naturally as if he had just announced it was raining outside.

She looked puzzled and terrified in same time, why would any sane person inject themselves with a virus?

He finally bothered looking at her and saw the questioning in her features. He answered before she even dared asking the question.

"The virus provided me with inhuman strength."

They looked at each other for a moment: the look of terror on her face was almost amusing to him. Given the opportunity, anybody else would have done that same thing that he did. Who did not want power…? Or at least that was what he was telling himself to justify his actions. Or did Albert Wesker really need justification…?

The look on her face getting boring quickly, he finally resumed his reading.

She sighed, not wanting to push the subject any further, then finally put the sweatshirt on, or as much as she could put on, seeing as one of her hands was tied to the headboard. She laid on the bed and rolled herself back in the blanket.

Then she smelt it: the faint smell of Albert's scent. Making sure he did not notice, she turned her back to him, brought the sleeve of the shirt to her nose and inhaled slowly, taking deep breaths of the scent silently. She closed her eyes, feeling the butterfly in her stomach. Even if she met the "real" Wesker, she just could not get the "sweet" Albert out of her mind. He was only an illusion, but she had already completely fell for him. He was the only thing keeping her alive… She kept inhaling the shirt, eventually drifting into a deep sleep, letting memories of "her" Albert bring peaceful dreams to her night.


	13. Chapter 13

_Alright, let's give this another shot. I might as well finish it, as I already wrote many future chapters._

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* * *

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**Day 120**

A whole week spent in this nightmare of an apartment. Spending 24 hours of her day with Wesker had almost made her miss the cell… He was as tyrannical as he led her to believe. She had a lot of pressure at work everyday : everything had to be perfect, and apart from the fifteen minutes he let her have to eat her daily tuna sandwich, she had no time to rest at all. At the same time, overworking herself was not such a horrible thing because then, as soon as she got back home, she was so burned out that she was asleep in a matter of an hour. No uneasy long nights where she had to stare at him while he was working, yet again… Besides, she sure had no problem falling asleep with the meager dinner he served her : two granola bars and a bottle of water… This new life of hers had never been better…

Although, tonight was different. The only thing on her mind was a long warm bath. In this last week, she had not dared to ask to use the bathroom for anything other than essential needs. She had never felt so sticky… Of course, he had never offered her the luxury of a bath, probably another one of his tricks to make her feel diminished : she had to ask for every single thing she needed.

"Albert?" she finally gathered the courage to ask, convinced he could probably smell her pestilent scent from the other side of the room.

"Yes?" he answered her, taking his eyes off of his report.

"Can I use the bathroom, please?"

Wesker slowly stood up, reached for his keys, unlocked her handcuffs without saying a word, then unlocked the door to the bathroom. Before he got the chance to change his mind, Emily grabbed clean clothes and rushed to the bathroom. The whole time, his attention stayed fully on her, ensuring she would feel as thoroughly surveyed as possible. Before she could even close the door, he stood still in the door way and finally spoke up :

"Don't do anything stupid, remember I can come in at any time! I'm giving you only ONE warning," he stated firmly, making the message perfectly clear. His tone was steel, cold and frightening.

She nodded, well aware it would be a bad idea to defy him and closed the door.

As soon as the door shut down, Emily closed her eyes, then sighed. Would it even be possible for a slight moment to let her mind escape the painful reality. To forget about where she was and who she was with just for a few minutes as she was soaking in the bath. She felt tears coming so she sat on the border of the bath and opened the water. The noise it would make could cover for her own noise. She let the tears go freely, finally feeling somewhat alone for the first time in a week. Crying in front of him was so humiliating, she just could not bare it anymore, but the feelings were not exactly just flying away.

As she sat in the warm water, a faint sensation of relaxation slowly took over. After a whole week of terror, all that stress had to somehow be expelled. Slowly, she drifted into a light sleep. Her mind wandered on her assailant. The monster had been abusing her for months now. It had been all an illusion… The sweetness, the caring, the softness… All fake… In reality, he was the most horrible person that she had ever met. He had no feeling, no emotion… Just a cold heart and a thirst for power and money. That was all this man was… No Albert… There was no intense staring into his deep eyes… Just an illusion. No sweet comfort when she needed to cry. Just an illusion… No soft hand on her cheek and genuine caring for a woman in despair. Just an illusion… And no warm and passionate kiss that made her feel as if the world had stopped for a second. Just an illusion…

She drifted deeper into sleep as her thoughts became blurrier, the fog clogging her mind bringing her deeper into her unconsciousness.

The door suddenly opens, revealing the man invading her every thought. Slowly, he approaches her, his demeanour suddenly different. Peaceful, composed, there is something soft and warm in his look. He sits on the side of the bath, intensely looking into her eyes. Slowly, his hand slips under water, rests on her belly. The sensation is soothing, but exciting in same time. Then she feels his hand go down, gently, his smile taking a different curve, as if he already enjoys himself at the idea of hearing her pleasure. Her breath accelerates, the excitement raises, provokes all her muscles to tense in expectation of the delightful sensation of his fingers reaching for her…

Emily's eyes wide opened. Recovering quickly from the disturbing dream, her heart beating a thousand times a minute, she sat up in the bath, taking her head in both hands.

What the hell was wrong with her? Why did she just dream of that…? Or was it really just a dream, was she still in control of her thoughts at that moment…? She hated the man, why would she imagine such atrocities? Lusting after him…

"God… What's wrong with me?" she whispered to herself.

Feeling disgusted with herself, she quickly got out of the bath, as if the water suddenly became dirty. Her pyjamas was brusquely put on, her body still wet, Albert's sweatshirt grabbed from the floor with a certain disdain.

As soon as she got out of the bathroom, he was ready to follow her. She obeyed, lying on the bed, avoiding at all cost his eyes. What if he could tell…? What if he knew…? As she tried to focus on pushing this idea out of her mind, it happened… His hand took hers, closed the handcuffs on the bed frame, then on her wrist. His body closed to her, his touch on her skin, it all came back at once. The sensation of his hand on her belly, the excitement of being powerless under his touch. She closed her eyes, reliving the moment fully, as if it was not a shame anymore. Then, without even realizing what she was doing, her free hand took his, softly pressed it against her cheek. He frowned, losing his perfectly composed demeanour for an instant. What the hell was she thinking…? What took over her…?

"Miss Reynolds, giving me sexual favors won't get you anywhere with me," he mocked her.

The words quickly awakened her from her inexplicable trance. Finally realizing what she had done and slightly feeling rejected, she turned her back to him without saying a word.

He stood up and let out a mocking chuckle as he walked back to his armchair.

"Asshole!" she whispered.

He abruptly stopped himself in his track, but kept his back to her.

"No insubordination with me, Miss Reynolds," he stated firmly, his tone emotionless but leaving no doubt on the threat.

"Fuck you…" she whispered softer than before.

Then, in an instant, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, had turned her around so she was laying on her back. His hand was holding her face so she would be forced to look at him. His grip was so tight than it felt as if her jaw was about to break in a hundred pieces.

"I just gave you an order, Emily, and when I do so, you obey me!" his voice was cool, but his annoyance was palpable. She struggled to escape his grip but to no avail.

"You're merely a tool to me, you're only purpose is to get me this virus in working order. If I give you access to food, to the bathroom or anything else I provide you with, it is a privilege I'm giving you out of kindness, so don't make me regret it."

"I hate you," she achieved to get out of her month, suffering great pain from opening it.

He grinned evilly.

"Oh, I could make you hate me even more if I wanted to," he let out amused. "So obey me! Do I make myself clear?"

She refused to answer, her eyes showing pure hatred, but the pain in her jaw was throbbing.

"DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?" he almost shouted, his grip tightening even more.

"Yes," she finally struggled to get out, the pain too unbearable to defy him any longer.

"Good," he stated coldly, leaving her to her intolerable pain.

She turned her back to him, then could not hold it anymore, a torrent of tears escaped her eyes. She tried to sob quietly, but what was the point? He would obviously hear it anyway. So she let it all out, until she cried herself to sleep.

He had won…

* * *

Wesker laid on the cold floor, a simple towel underneath him. It had been his bed for the last week. The woman occupying his usual bed was sleeping soundlessly. He was drifting slowly into sleep himself when he felt something hard hit his chest. His eyes opened in a millisecond, alert. She laid on the side of the bed and her arm had fallen, ending its fall on his chest. He looked at her, still sleeping deeply, then at her hand, the back of it laying gently on his chest. He had a t-shirt on, but for a moment he wished he forgot to put it on, so her soft skin could have come in contact with his. She was a very pretty woman and the idea of getting more intimate with her had obsessed him since he had kissed her. He raised his hand, brushed her skin lightly with his fingers, from her forearm to her hand, then took it in his. He rubbed it, thinking deeply. Thinking of the time when he had felt her tongue on his, how he had heard her sighs and soft moans, how he had felt her hands roaming his body, how he had tasted the sweetness of her skin. He looked concentrated. One of those things that was fascinating about the man ; he could block any feelings from his expression. As he thought about sexual activities with her, he seemed as if he was thinking of his next report.

He sighed, all that sexual desire had no importance. All that mattered was the work she was doing for him. If she completed the virus, he could move upward in the company, gain some more power and eventually lead things himself. That was her real purpose. Her only purpose. The fact he would have gladly fucked her could be put aside, as it would definitely make things between them even more awkward. He needed to keep her focused, afterall, he was the one giving orders and forcing her down a path she did not want to follow.

He replaced her hand on the bed, causing her to moan her disagreement, but it did not wake her up. Instead, her arm just fell back on him. Seeing it as a predicament to trouble, he moved to the left, causing her arm to lay still. This way, things would be just as he expected them: clear and simple, without any complications.

* * *

Emerging from another one of those horrible nightmares that had been filling her nights for the last few months, Emily opened her eyes. It all came back to her slowly: her location, her new life, the fight that had happened earlier…

She sighed.

Unfortunately, that part was not a nightmare…

The tears had crusted on her skin, leaving a unpleasant salty taste on her lips. She wanted to go wash her face, but it was impossible to get out of the bed without waking him up, which obviously was not an option at the moment. The less she had to interact with him, the happier she would be.

The man was lying on the floor, his face calm, looking perfectly at peace. It did not matter if he was abducting a woman and making her his slave, he had absolutely no remorse whatsoever.

How could everything he had said been a lie…? How could that kiss have been all an act…? It felt so real…

What if somehow, part of it was truly felt? It could not have been only an illusion. What she had felt could not have been all fake…

God, was she losing her mind completely? That man was a monster… A cruel insensitive merciless asshole…

As she was about to put her mind to rest and fall back asleep, his voice raised from the dead :

"Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Reynolds?", he said, his eyes still closed.

Startled, she quickly looked away. How did he find out she was staring at him?

"I'm sorry…" she said softly while turning around, her voice weak and fearful.

She hurried to hide her head in the sweatshirt sleeve then tried to fall back asleep.

If only it had not all been an act…

She sighed.


	14. Chapter 14

_I guess I'll have another try at this... Sorry for the ridiculously long time between updates... _

_I know this chapter isn't the most exciting one, but I'm just trying to set the pace, and the whole evolution of their relationship._

* * *

**Day 135**

Another day at the lab followed by another night in this tiny apartment. What was the point in even staying alive anymore? As if she did not already know that the day he no longer needed her skills anymore was the day he would simply "dispose" of her. There was no "after", or even just a small hope to retrieve her old life; unless she escaped somehow. However, he was obviously ensuring that specific possibility would never come to life.

As soon as the door was closed, she knew where her "place" was ; she sat on the bed then waited for him to tie her to the bed frame. Usually as soon as that was finished, he would grab a bottle of water and two granola bars, toss them at her and proceed to ignore her for the rest of the night while he busied himself with work. The only moment he acknowledged her presence was when she asked to have access to the bathroom. He had provided her with great entertainment such as a few bioengineering and biochemistry books, periodicals and articles. As if after working twelve hours of her day on the subject, she would have felt like entertaining herself with more… So the different books and articles had been lying on the floor next to the bed untouched for the last couple weeks.

As her meagre dinner was being tossed at her for the 20th time, she knew she just could not stomach it anymore. Did he ever eat anything else? How could she be expected to muster swallowing those things days after days after days…? If at least sometimes he would give her something interesting to drink with it… Soda, juice… Beer… God, she would kill for a glass of wine right now. No, screw that, a whole bottle of wine… She eyed the granola bars then sighed heavily and winced in disgust.

"Is there a problem, Miss Reynolds?" he asked, his tone patronizing.

"I'm sick of_ always_ eating the same revolting thing everyday for the last three months."

"Well, this is all I have that does not require preparation, so you will have to satisfy yourself with it," he answered, a touch of annoyance in his voice.

"You could cook something," she asked him, more out of defiance than actual inquiry.

It made him chuckle.

"This isn't a five-star hotel, Miss Reynolds. You are my prisoner."

"I won't eat anymore of these."

"Very well, it is your choice if you want to starve yourself to death," he answered coldly to her poor attempt at conjuring a threat.

He turned around and sat down in his chair as usual, more than happy to proceed ignoring her for the rest of the night.

"I hate you…" she whispered.

He smirked with satisfaction, not bothering to raise his eyes and acknowledge her.

"You're cruel, mean, insensible, manipulative and selfish!"

"Well, that is _exactly_ what I have been trying to explain to you for the last two weeks, Miss Reynolds, I am glad we finally come to an understanding on the matter," he stated refusing to give away his stupid sarcastic smile. He was enjoying himself, her insults clearly not affecting him.

"Fuck you…" she whispered to herself, almost hoping he had not heard.

He kept smirking, then eventually looked up at her, his patience slowly running thin.

"Miss Reynolds, your poor attempt at provoking me won't work. Although, I would highly suggest you change your attitude with me, because this might be the last time you are allowed food. You wouldn't want to get the chance to miss the delicious taste of those granola bars, would you?" he mocked her.

She sighed, throwing the bars pettily on the floor. Lying on her bed, she stubbornly fixed her gaze upon the wall; her pettiness was amusing him heavily. She dreamed of a steak, of a comfortable bed, of her old office, of her apartment, of her freedom… She sighed again, the sound of her exasperation starting to irritate him. He sighed heavily himself and rose. She looked at him walking slowly in her direction and realized she might have gone too far. Her pulse accelerated, anticipating being physically abused if he felt the need. She looked at him taking something out of his pocket.

"Fine," he let out, bending down to remove the handcuffs. "If you want to eat something else, you will have to cook it yourself. Make something for me in the same time; a change wouldn't hurt," he added heading back to his famous leather chair.

She stood up, angry.

"What? Am I going to be your servant now?" she almost yelled.

"Is this not what you already are, Miss Reynolds?" he asked amused, sitting down, clearly not flustered by her little display of angst, then got back to reading his files.

Standing there in awe, she finally realized she was free…

"Does… does that mean I can move around freely…?" She asked anxious, hoping strongly for a positive answer.

"I suppose so," he answered casually.

"Not just for tonight, right?"

"No, not just for tonight."

"Aren't you scared I might try to escape?"

The idea seemed to amuse him more than surprise him.

"Not that I doubt your extraordinary strength, Miss Reynolds, but I would be highly surprised if you could break through a heavy locked door with your meagre 100 pounds. Of course, if you try to harm me, which I can assure you is quite impossible, I will not only tie you back to your bed, but I will also cut every one of your toes off one by one and feed them to you. Is that clear?"

She nodded quickly, the disturbing idea making her hands shake, or maybe even her toes...

"Now, Miss Reynolds, I have work to do," he stated firmly, bringing an end to the discussion.

"Sorry," she added nervously. She stayed still for a moment, enjoying her new freedom. "Thank you," she finally muttered her voice soft and grateful.

He raised his eyes from his report, nodded, acknowledging her gratitude, then resumed his reading.

Emily proceeded to take the tour of the small apartment Wesker had never offered her. She had looked at everything from the _comfort_ of the bed she had been tied to sometimes wondering what the bookshelves or the kitchen cabinets contained. She had not have much to do when lying on that bed after work, so any activity other than staring at the boring white wall could fill her free time. She walked slowly to the bookshelves to the left of Wesker as he was still occupied reading his report, not even bothering to acknowledge her as she was standing only a couple feet from him. As expected, the bookshelves contained more bioengineering and biochemistry books, periodicals and articles, except for a couple shelves which appeared to be some of his more personal stuffs. Wesker deeply focused on his reading, she started going through the papers. There was a whole section on the T-Virus, the Progenitor virus, a couple folders on the G-Virus and the T-Veronica virus, everything being sorted by date from 1980 to 1999. She randomly opened a folder from the Progenitor virus section and started going quickly through it. She recognized his handwriting right away as well as a few other people's handwriting. Some of the papers were a complete mess, but the majority was readable and most likely understandable if she was willing to give it the proper time to read it. She replaced the folder on its shelf; this could definitely come in handy, she had to take a closer look later on.

The kitchen had intrigued her the most; she had never seen him use it. All she ever saw him drag out of there was the granola bars and the bottles of water from the refrigerator. The few cabinets contained all the amenities required to cook a decent meal: pans, pots, utensils as well as some canned food, oil, spices and baking supplies. Surprised to find out the apartment was well furnished with things he seemed to refuse to use, she turned over to Wesker to ask him why he would stock on things seemingly useless to him.

"How come you have all that food and never use it?"

"It came with the room. Those were the possessions of the person that occupied this room before me," he answered casually, not even taking his eyes off of his report. "The linens, this chair and even some of the books were his as well. The rest is provided by the company."

"And why didn't he leave with his belongings?"

"Because he is dead, Miss Reynolds. He infected himself with his own work, he had to be put down," he stated, as casually as if he was small talking about the weather outside.

She swallowed nervously, realizing that, one day, her own belongings might be given out to somebody else too…


	15. Chapter 15

**Day 148**

Emily plated Wesker's dinner and called him to the table. She knew exactly what would happen as he acted the exact same manner with all the previous dinners she had cooked for him : he brought what he was reading to the table and continued reading while eating, not even sparing a glance at her the whole time. She was wondering if he actually remembered she was living with him up until he thanked her for the meal once he was done. He would then go sit back on his chair and ignored her for the rest of the night. Apart from having to stare at him for ten minutes while he was eating, her new "housewife" life was pretty similar to the "tied to a bed headboard" life.

Once diner was over and dishes were cleaned, Emily sat on her bed and wondered how to spend her only hour before going to bed. She thought of going through the bookshelves again; she had already spent several hours going through his personal records, extracting valuable information. She even read a few newer articles, trying to keep herself updated with the newest development in her field. But tonight she had enough of work and she needed something else. She watched him read and could not resist the urge to bother him, to interact with a human being for a change… If Wesker could still be considered a human being!

She grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and brought it next to him, sitting to his left.

"What are you reading?" she asked casually.

He frowned at her, not quite used to such an informal attitude towards him. She leaned over his shoulder, moved her head close to be able to see the papers in his hands, her face only a couple inches from his. He eyed her coldly, unimpressed. It made her feel uncomfortable, by his cold attitude but also by the close proximity of his body. She straightened on her chair awkwardly.

"Some of the more recent work from an old colleague of mine," he answered coldly.

"Dr. Birkin, correct?"

"Yes."

"Is this some of his latest work related to the G-Virus?"

"Yes."

"You are hoping to take a page out of his work to possibly help us controlling the potency of the T-Veronica, am I right?"

"Yes," he sighed heavily. "Why don't you get to the point, Miss Reynolds?" he asked his patience being tested.

"This won't work. Even though those two viruses were extracted from the Progenitor virus, the speed at which they infect their host is too different. If you apply the same methods to the T-Veronica, it will consume its host and destroy it completely. I have already read this, it won't help us."

"Very well," he sighed putting the paper down on the desk next to him. He was really at wit's end. Would they ever make some real improvements with this god damn virus?

"But…" she finally let out, trying to keep him on his toes.

"But what, Miss Reynolds?" His patience was quickly running thin. What was going on with her attitude the last few days? He had run out of fingers to count all her insubordinations.

He watched her stand up, leaf through his Umbrella documents in the bookshelves and dig something out of the T-Veronica folder. She then moved to the other bookshelf and grabbed what seemed to be a recent edition of a periodical. She handed him the Umbrella document first.

"Here, read this first; this Alexia Ashford person has almost already done all the work for us. You will need to apply this technique for it to work though," she then handed him the article.

"Interesting," he answered satisfied.

"I read this a couple weeks ago and realized this might do exactly what you are hoping to achieve."

As she went to sit back on her chair, she felt his hand closing on her wrist, restraining her from moving further.

"A couple weeks ago?" he asked, the insinuation obvious.

She suddenly realized what he was extracting out of what she had just said. She swallowed painfully. She was scared, but part of her was also satisfied for pissing him off.

"If you had discovered this a couple weeks ago, Miss Reynolds, why is it you waited this long to inform me?" his voice showed obvious irritation.

She knew she had to apologize, to suck it up and tell him what he wanted to hear. Heck, he was probably hoping for her to grovel at his feet and ask for his merciful forgiveness…

But she had noticed his attitude had slowly changed with her within the last few weeks. Not mentally, but physically. He would still threaten her the same, talked to her in a diminishing way just the same as before, but she noticed, as much as his threats had been filled with physical abuse before, now he carefully avoided causing her any physical pain. He would only use his words to hurt her, never his hands anymore. She could only notice and wonder if this meant anything… She had been tempted to push him to the limits just to test her intuition.

She had noticed her own attitude changed as well. The feelings were getting confused in her head and, as time went, she would mix the memory of her soft Albert with the reality of the tyrannical Wesker. As time went, she would confuse to two men into the same person. Her stomach would turn upside down when he was too close to her and she saw herself hoping he would close the distance between two of them. His hand would brush too close to hers and she would fantasize about it caressing her entire body. There were those few times she had stared at him looking down the microscope and had to stop herself from not kissing him fiercely once he looked up. So she pushed him, taunted him, tried to wear his patience down, in hope he would react and be brutal to her, hit her, anything. She thought if he was to hit her, maybe those feelings would go away, maybe she would stop lusting for his touch and his attention and would resume hating him for what she knew he truly was: a monster. But instead he would simply give her a threat, or only lose patience. There were even times he would only stare coldly at her and resume what he was doing barely acknowledging her. So she kept trying and trying, until he would finally end her suffering and her mental sanity would assuredly recover, but to no avail. Instead her own prophecy fulfilled itself and she just kept falling harder for him, starting to convince herself than if he refused to hit her, it was simply because he was incapable of hitting her, his feeling as mixed as hers… Maybe she did see something real in his eyes when he had kissed her a few weeks back and it had not been just an act… She had felt tenderness and caring in him during those months he had pretending to be somebody else that she could not believe was all faked.

So she just kept pushing him, pushing her own luck...

"Why would I want to help you?" she stated firmly, defiance in her look.

He stood up and raised his hand. The cold leather of his gloved fingers left an uncomfortable feeling on her warm skin. His fingers curled around her jaw, the only sound in the room the one of the cracking leather, and applied just the proper pressure to force her to look at him, to impose his dominance on her. But not enough pressure to really cause her any pain…

"Are you defying me, Miss Reynolds?" His tone was cold and controlled, but none-the-less frightening.

"What if I was?" she asked defiantly, her breathing heavy and irregular.

They stared at each other for a moment, his irritation palpable. She thought she finally caught him, that he would resort to physical abuse. His hand twitched slightly, the restrained frustration easily readable on his features, but he cautiously kept the same pressure on her face.

"Then you would be a fool that does not value her life very much."

She held her gaze and the staring contest lasted several long and painful seconds.

"And why did you tell me now?" he finally asked, unsure if it was either curiosity or another way of making her feel uncomfortable.

She realized the answer escaped her. Or not… Maybe those new found feelings made her want to help him, when she categorically refused to a few weeks ago after reading those articles. She blushed, ashamed of herself, then looked down.

"I don't know…" she finally let out after a heavy silence.

He stared at her, cold and irritated. After a few seconds, he cooled down and let go of her, giving her a disdainful look. He had a vague idea of why she would suddenly share that piece of information, but he would gladly avoid talking about it.

And yet again he had not resorted to physical pain…

He decided to sit back down, sparing her any glimpse and started reading what she had given him.

He noticed her moving towards the kitchen under his sunglasses. Maybe he had let her take too much liberty and it had gone slowly to her head. Not only did she have the freedom of moving around the apartment as she desired, he would also let her get out of work earlier. As he used to make her work twelve hours per day, he would now let her out one hour earlier and let her come in one hour later. It was still a prison, but a bearable prison. Except for her occasional recent display of insubordinations, she had been the perfect little prisoner. She would obey all of his orders, applying her mind and body to her job fully. Despite the fact he had hoped the virus would have been in a much more developed state at this point it time, he felt that she still had been a valuable addition to his research. So he decided to loosen his grip slightly. He would let her eat anything that pleased her, letting her write him list of groceries that he would give to his subordinates to fill for her. She had even requested some new clothes that he had agreed to provide for her. A happy "employee" would apply herself better at work.

His gaze stayed on her as she was preparing some tea in the kitchen. She was always wearing that stupid sweatshirt he let her borrow. He had to wonder if she had ever washed it. Her only other garment was a pyjama bottom; a very short tight pair of shorts. Even if she was a short woman, she had these amazing legs. Lean, but somehow athletic too, with just enough curviness to make them incredibly sexy. Every time she was wearing one of these, he had not been able to resist staring endlessly at her legs under his sunglasses. Sometimes he wished he would allow himself to touch her, to touch them… Slowly sliding his hand up, from her feet to the top… His fingers rubbing against the fabric of her underpants, her body tensing in excitement, a soft moan escaping her mouth. His fingers would slowly slide in her underpants, finding that special spot. Slowly, careful, he would circl…

He quickly snapped out of it, feeling his fantasies had gotten "visible" on his own pants. It had been way too long since he had touched a woman; it was definitely acting up on him. Living with a sexy one favoring an arousing short nightgown could only make it worse. He forced himself to concentrate on the papers she had given him.

Her tea in her hand, Emily sat on her own bed, pensive. She stared at him, hypnotised. He was such a mystery, even if she tried, she could not hope to understand him. The tyrannical personality he had revealed was so far from hers, she could not even dream to put a grasp on who he was, on his true motives. He was so intriguing, not necessarily in a positive manner.

"Why is staring at me seems to be such a delightful hobby of yours, Miss Reynolds?"

His voice broke the silence putting an end to her cogitation. She had not realized he had noticed her staring at him. Those stupid sunglasses he refused to ever take off were treacherous.

"Why? Why are you doing all this?" she mustered the courage to ask.

"Why am I doing all what, Miss Reynolds?" he _really_ had to resort back to his old ways, she had been out of control.

"This… this life, this work, this "must overtake the World" planning… What for?"

"Is this the part where you try to psychoanalyze me, Miss Reynolds?"

"I just want to understand."

"There is nothing to understand," he stated firmly, trying to put an end to this bothersome investigation.

"Why? Just why?" she asked, her look dumbfounded.

"I like power and money, I guess this is a good enough answer for you. Now, let me read, I have work to do," that was an order and not a demand. His eyes went back to his reading.

She sighed, then lied on the bed.


	16. Chapter 16

**Day 155**

Emily was preparing dinner for the two of them like she had been doing it every day for the last two weeks. As usual, Wesker was reading either a report or another bioengineering book or article. That was all she ever saw him do at "home". If he was not working, he was learning more… He seemed to have an insatiable need to keep learning. As much as it had been bothering her at first, she started seeing it as a fascinating and admirable quality. Besides, who could understand him better than her, who had spent countless nights studying and working, her education and work often the only passion in her life. She would not have such an outstanding list of achievements at such a young age without being passionate and determined. If only he could at least acknowledge her once in a while and provide her with some entertainment… But his passion for those « bio-weapons » had nothing to do with her own passion for her field and as much as her work for him was enjoyable in its core, it did leave her with an overbearing feeling of guilt. She was undoubtedly extremely unhappy. The man she had fallen for actually ended up being an ambitious and emotionless monster and she had to help a company void of morality to create dangerous viruses when she had devoted her work to eliminate the danger of those same viruses. Upon that, losing any freedom she ever had certainly did not add to the sense of fulfillment. Although, somehow, the mixed feelings she was undeniably developing for the man that caused her so much pain kept growing in intensity. As much as he was terrifying her terribly, the infatuation was becoming indisputably real and insupportable. She still could not tell if she was simply hanging on to a memory of him she could not let go, or if she was truly attracted to the newly discovered personality. She realized how ridiculous her feelings were: this man could not possibly care, nor be affectionate to anyone. He was so cruel… However, she felt he had grown softer on her recently; more patient, more caring, more understanding… The threats had been declining markedly, his tone was getting softer with her and he would even let her take a day to rest when she had complained of exhaustion. He had so much as smiled at her a few times, the smile soothing and comforting, and it could only make her blush and feel even more enamored. In those moments, she felt she retrieved the Albert she fell for, and her feelings grew deeper and stronger, to her own despair.

But her feelings had no importance; all she hopelessly yearned for was to escape from this dreadful prison...

As her tomato was not going to cut itself by the only power of her mind, she opened the utensils drawer to grab a sharp knife. Then, an idea crossed her mind. It was a rather desperate and stupid idea, but it still lingered there and taunted her to act. What if she hid one of these knives somewhere on her? When he would come close enough, at the right opportunity, she could stab him with all her strength, steal the key to the door and escape. He was way too busy reading to notice what she was doing. She stared at the opened drawer for several seconds, trying to gather the courage to act. If she turned around a little bit, he would be mostly facing her back. She looked at him from the corner of her eye; even though the sunglasses were hiding his eyes, he seemed rather concentrated on his work. She bit her lip, still turning the idea in her mind. She closed her eyes and forced herself to move forward, praying to the Gods this would not end with her lifeless body on the side of the road. She hid her "illicit activity" carefully grabbing one of the knives. She had no pocket on herself, so she slid the knife on herself, cautious to not cut her skin, between her undergarment and her pants, right under her belly. She took a second knife, then resumed her task of cooking.

Unfortunately for her, Wesker has witnessed the strange scene from behind his sunglasses. He was fairly insulted that she would underestimate him enough to think she could hide something so obvious to him. You could never hide anything from Wesker; he was _almost_ infallible. He had seen her look at him sneakily, turn her back to him, play in the drawer for a ridiculously long time, then hide something on herself on her lower body area. He figured instantly she had hidden a knife in her pants entertaining the possibility to hurt him with it and escape. How ridiculous she could be, thinking she could escape his grip so easily. How dare she take him for such an idiot, the ungrateful brat? He had to teach her a lesson. He would give her a few minutes, finish the article he was reading, then show her he did not appreciate being messed with.

As he moved towards her, he left his sunglasses on the kitchen table, hoping his terrifying eyes would work their charms. He walked slowly in her direction, anticipating her to have already figured out why he was joining her, intending on making this moment of waiting as excruciating as humanly possible as she was waiting on him to unleash his wrath on her. He stood only a few inches from her and already sensed her body tensed, expecting the inevitable. He pressed his body against her back, pinned her with one arm against him, restraining her arms from moving, while the other was carefully placed against her belly.

"What did you expect to achieve exactly, Miss Reynolds?" he hissed between his teeth.

She was breathing heavily, awaiting at any moment his anger.

"You thought you could fool me so easily?"

His hand slowly moved down, grabbing the knife hidden in her pants. In any other occasion, she might have found this intimate embrace arousing, but at that very moment, he held her so tightly that the pain was unbearable and she was terrified at the idea of being so defenseless with his body so close to hers. She whimpered and struggled against him, but his hold was too powerful.

"Maybe I should punish you… Maybe I should make you regret underestimating me so idiotically!" he whispered in her ear, his tone menacing with a trace of insanity in his voice.

She was so terrified at the idea of the knife being used against her; her eyes closed tight, she grabbed onto his arm still holding the knife and dug her nails painfully into his skin, desperate to force him to let go. She felt so vulnerable, his hand so close to her private area with a sharp object.

"Please… Let me go…" she pleaded desperately.

His hand finally extracted the knife out of its hideout and let it drop on the floor. Her breath was so panicked and ragged that it almost covered the sound of the metal clanging on the hard ceramic floor.

Then it happened. It might have been his twisted mind that enjoyed the sensation of her scared and powerless body pressed against his, or the fact her perfume gently rose to his nostrils, her body so close he could have drawn himself in her scent, but at this moment, her perfume surrounding him, his body relaxed and his grip loosened. There was something soothing about the way she smelt, something arousing reminding him the first time he had kissed her and how delicious that moment had felt. She had been fierce to answer his touch, her body fully his if he had been willing to take her. He loved how she had yearned for him, how she had been so hopeless for this moment of intimacy. He would have bet anything that, at that very moment, she was just as desperate as she had been a few months ago. He felt her own breath slowly steadying, his own reflection becoming real before his eyes.

She had noticed his grip had loosened, how his hand was softly pressed against her belly, how his other arm was seductively keeping her pressed against him. How had she longed for that moment, how had she dreamed of him affectionately fondling her just like that… She noticed his hands were not gloved today and reflected on how delectable the sensation of his skin would be on hers.

Without him taking full consciousness of his actions, as if he had just read her mind, his hand slid softly from her belly to her forearm, extending the caress the longest he possibly could, living the moment to its fullest extent. His head moved down, resting his chin gently on top of her head, taking in a deeper breath of her intoxicating scent. Her pulse accelerated, her breath was hard to control. The excitement was so intense that her heart skipped a few beats. She opened her mouth, taking deeper breaths as to stop herself from fainting out of exhilaration. She could not believe this was happening, how much had she craved to relive that moment again. His hand moved up slowly, his fingers brushing her skin so lightly that it sent shivers down her spine. Her breath continuously accelerated as his hand moved up that by the time his hand reached her shoulder, her breath was so heavy she was letting long gasps out of her mouth. His hand slowly moved to the nape of her neck, his fingers tangled in her hair. She could not take it anymore, she closed her eyes, focusing on appreciating this moment to its full extent. Then his hand moved to the front of her neck. For a second, he entertained the idea of forcing her head up to be able to kiss her, but he pushed away the idea. He enjoyed hearing her powerless needy breath too much to deprive himself of it just yet. Excruciatingly slowly, his hand moved down and slid under her shirt. He caressed her collarbone, gradually making its way to the opening of her undergarment. She let out a moan of pleasure, of pure excitement, her body aching for his release. She reclined her head, rested it on his torso to be able to look at him. She opened her eyes, looked at him intensely, patiently waiting on him to cover her mouth with his and put an end to this torture.

"Albert…" she moaned softly.

The sound of her voice brought him back to reality, breaking the spell she had on him. He opened his eyes, looked down at her. There was something deep in his gaze, something tormented, struggling to get out. It was well hidden under several layers of polish, but she could glimpse the beginning of something warm and inviting looking quite the same as what she had witnessed when they had first kissed months ago. And then it disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and the cold and impenetrable gaze was back mixed with what she believed could be panic and embarrassment.

He had just realized what he was doing, realized where his hand was heading, how close he had been to breaking the line indefinitely. He suddenly stopped himself, his face taking a strange alertness and he backed away quickly. For a slight second, all his features showed fear, complete loss of control, but only for the blink of an eye. His cold demeanor and his emotionless features were restored to him naturally.

"Hopefully, you've learned your lesson, Miss Reynolds, because I won't be as nice with you next time you disobey me," his tone felt unnaturally cold and controlled.

She nodded, confused at the scene she had just witnessed. She felt hurt, abandoned. How could he not savor that moment as much as she did? Was he blind? Was he really that oblivious to the obvious mutual attraction? How their bodies longed for one another… How could he deny it so stubbornly? How could it be so shameful to want to touch her…?

"You are going to behave correctly from now on, right, Miss Reynolds?" If she listened carefully, she could almost hear the faint sound of panic and confusion in his voice.

"Yes…" she stammered feebly.

"Good. Don't disappoint me."

He turned around and left her to find something new to read, ignoring her.

Emily, confused and dumbfounded at the situation and having no other choice, resumed the preparation of her dinner.

Later on, as she was plating his dinner and calling him to the table, she watched him bring a new article to the table. He played it off as if absolutely nothing had occurred between the two of them, his attitude and demeanor showing the usual indifference. As she watched him take his first bites of her meal, she wondered if she should, or rather could, show affection. She was burning to feel his touch on her again, to resume the memorable moment that had been taken away from her so cruelly. She saw his hand resting on the table and decided to slide hers on top of his, almost nervously. His attention left his article and he looked down at her hand, frowning. He finally looked at her, serious and emotionless, his head tilted slightly.

"What do you think you are doing exactly?" he asked, almost menacingly.

"Nothing…" she whispered, removing her hand quickly. She bit her lip, feeling a mixture of shame and rejection.

"Don't do it again," he ordered her on the same threatening tone before resuming his reading.

She nodded, then looked away, eating her dinner. She would not dare even looking at him for the rest of the night.

* * *

_Please don't be shy to review, like anybody I really appreciate the comments, both the good and the bad (if it's constructive obviously). ~_^_


	17. Chapter 17

_Thank you very much for the reviews, I really appreciate it! :) It's always fun to read what people think, even when it's not super positive. Obviously, I never pretended to be a writer so I know I make tons of mistakes. Sometimes, what seems so clear in your mind that you try to put into words can be really confusing for others..._

_To Nightscream : I don't know if it's really only Stockholm Syndrome anymore, I think she is just hanging on to something she saw in him that she has decided is true (the affection he showed her when he was lying to her). Obviously, in a regular situation, she would realize how ridiculous and desperate that idea is, but she has nothing left in life so she latches on to anything she can to find some happiness in her miserable new life. Anyway, that's how the character works in my mind! :) She's nowhere near snapping out of it any time soon! XD_

* * *

**Day 158**

Emily was sitting on her bed stiff and lost in thought. She had been absently fixing the computer for over an hour now, unable to move. Her body was tensed, her mind racing and she was desperately gathering the courage to finally act before it was too late. What if he came back…? What if he found her…? She tried to convince herself he would never hurt her, that she had been right all along; he cared too much for her to physically abuse her, but the doubt was still sown in her mind. What if he got so infuriated this time that he killed her? Although, was this not what she had been desperate for a few weeks ago? To just die…?

It had been the first time he had left her alone untied in his apartment since her arrival there. He had not stated the motive of his absence, but had only reminded her that she would get punished harshly if she attempted anything suspicious. But she just could not lose what could be her only opportunity ever to use the computer. She could possibly reach the authority to seek some help and finally escape that forsaken hell. She had only seen him use the computer once but she was certain it was connected to the internet.

In a heartbeat, she stood up, ran to the computer and powered it up. She watched the screen as the computer was booting absently staring at the lines of text appearing on the screen, then in a second, her hopes crashed and her heart sank. He set a BIOS password… He set a _fucking_ BIOS password… Of course he did, what was she thinking? That he would be dense enough to leave the computer unprotected in her hands?

What Wesker did not know was beyond her myriad of talents, she was also computer savvy. She remembered she had to remove the CMOS battery out of the computer then placed it back for the password to be removed. She had not done the procedure in a few years now, but she was convinced she could still remember how to do it from the last time she had forgotten her own password on her home computer. The problem was, could she really expend the time to go through this precise procedure?

"Come on, Emily… hurry up…." she mumbled to herself.

She took a deep breath to give herself courage then ran to the kitchen. She ruffled through the few drawers and rushed back to the computer with a screwdriver and a butter knife in her hand. There might have been better suited tools for the task but she had no time to lose foraging through the apartment. Within a minute, the computer was lying at her feet opened and she was staring nervously at the mother board, puzzled and confused. Her nerves had gotten the best of her and she suddenly could not remember which of these tiny pieces of electronic could be the CMOS battery.

"Shit… shit, shit, _shit_!" she swore out loud.

She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. When she opened them back up, her eyes caught a glimpse of a small circular and metallic object on the motherboard and it all came back to her at once. _That_ was it! Her hands shaking horrendously, she used the butter knife to extract it from its small enclosure, waiting a couple minutes then replaced it. As she pieced back the computer together she could not resist glancing at the clock on the wall. 3:30pm, ninety minutes since he had left… She had to hurry up… Why did she take so long to make up her mind? She had lost precious time…

Once the computer was plugged back and primed for the final moment, she pressed the power button, the butterflies in her stomach insufferable. She watched the same dull text scroll down the screen, praying hard her little trick was successful. For a minute she stopped breathing, her nails dug so deeply in her thighs they almost ripped through the fabric of her pants. Then the screen switched, showing the good old loading screen of Windows 98. She sighed out of relief, her features finally relaxing slightly. She had never been so happy to see this idiotic logo. Her foot stomping the floor nervously, she watched the operating system loading, the computer taking what seemed like ages to boot up.

Then she heard it, the noise of keys being inserted in the door lock. Frantic, she pressed and held the power button, hoping to close the computer on time before he came in. Her strength was escaping her, for a second she believed she would pass out. Please, please, _please_….. How could this take so _fucking_ long? What was not even ten seconds felt to her like an unbearable eternity.

Her heart sank as she heard him come in. She stood stiffly, turning around to look at him. He stopped in his track, frowning slightly, the surprise easily readable on his features. Within a second, the surprise was replaced by uncontained wrath. He walked menacingly in her direction. All her admirable convictions flew away as she watched the anger twist his features and she could only cover her face with her hands in hope to protect herself from his fury.

"How come you never obey me, hmm? How come you can't just quietly do as I ask, instead of giving me headaches," he yelled. The usual cold composure was long gone.

He grabbed one of her arm violently.

"Why do you have to be such a nuisance?"

He grabbed the other arm, pulling her savagely close to him, like a puppet he could easily manipulate, shook violently until it behaved.

"You're irritating me!"

His breath was heavy, his eyes showing disgust and total annoyance.

"You're taunting me."

He was breathing so heavily, his face only a few inches from hers, that she felt his warm and panicked breath on her brow.

"_Obsessing_ me…" he hissed between his teeth.

As soon as the words escaped his mouth, he roughly pressed his lips against hers, the kiss dry and violent, as if he kissed her more out of punishment than actual desire. His hands groped her body painfully, his fingers dug deeply into her skin, her body harshly pressed against his as if he tried to melt her to him to better dominate her. Was this a kiss or simply an attempted proof of his complete domination over her? She tried to pull away, unable to decide if this was affection or pure loathing. After five intolerable seconds, he sighed heavily and his composure softened up, his hands and body given up to a much more appreciable gentleness. Instead of pressing his lips forcefully against hers, he started brushing and sucking on hers softly, leaving a warm trail on her unmoving lips. It took her a moment to realize what was happening, to realize his fingers were not painfully dug deeply into her skin anymore, and for her lips to answer his. Anxious to taste more of her sweetness and hypnotized by the moment, his tongue softly parted her lips and caressed hers. His passion burning eagerly, his softness quickly got replaced by lust and his hands started caressing her body with a restrained ardor that tensed all of his muscles and took him all his self-control to not hurt her in his passion. As his tongue started massaging hers more roughly, his moans and grunts started tickling her throat. His hands slid under her shirt and caressed what he had been dying to feel once again for several months now. She eventually answered with the same eagerness than his and slid her delicate hands under his shirt to better feel his toned body. One of his hand, aching to move further, lightly brushed the top of her buttock. The sensation sent electrical delights through her spine and she moaned ardently in his mouth. Obviously aroused, she felt the bulge forming in his pants.

His sudden instinctive needs finally awakened his tyrant consciousness and pushed him to unexpectedly pull away from her embrace. He was panting heavily, struggling to regain his usual cold demeanor. She looked at him lost, hurt and confused, not quite grasping why this intimate moment they obviously both enjoyed immensely was brought to an end so abruptly. Did she really have to go through this yet another time? Another absurd moment where she had to observe him struggle with his internal demons and suddenly pretend like nothing had happened. Her hand reached for him, softly rested on his torso. It took him several seconds to realize she had touched him. His look showed panic again, a dumbfounded confusion; this time he was unable to control himself. She had never seen him like this, never seen this man generally so controlled, his every move always precisely calculated, look so disconnected and… _human_. He suffocated to bring himself to look at her, until he finally deigned to. His stare was nearly one of disgust against her soft look, her warm affectionate smile. He eventually stared at her hand still rested on his chest, unable to stomach it anymore. For several seconds he would not budge, neither did she.

At long last, without even saying a word, he suddenly turned around and left the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

She was left behind with only her sore feeling of rejection.

How could kissing her, desiring her, bring such torment to somebody?


	18. Chapter 18

_To Guest : I definitely agree with you, although, keep in mind that she has been segregated for almost 6 months now and he is the only human being she has contact with. She does not have anybody else to turn to. Who knows how somebody would react under the same circumstances. Human beings need other human beings to survive. If one thing life has taught me is that you might never quite react the way you expected yourself to. I've ran out of fingers to count how surprises I was by my reactions when life threw shit down my way. Sometimes I truly disappointed myself, sometimes I did better than expected._

_I also chose to make the character weak in certain aspects. There is no denying that she is a very strong willed woman in certain situations, but I made her to be fairly submissive in general. The character also doesn't have much in life apart from her work. Like I introduced her in the beginning, she has no family and only a handful of friends; she has spent her whole life devoting it to her work, just like him. It can only hinder her emotional maturity just like it did to him._

_Last thing, like I stated in a comment to Nightscream in the previous chapter, even though she idealized the whole affair, she did truly feel something real in his behaviors. It is not love but just a genuine care and affection on his part. And a lot of hormones too… That's what happens when you deprive yourself of sex for your greater ambitions! ;_;_

_Anyway, this was my thought process._

_But don't worry, she will hit her limit too, it might just take longer than you expect._

_Anyway, this is just a lemon fanfiction and I might totally just over think the whole thing! XD_

_Now nobody will wanna give me comments anymore with the freaking novel I just wrote as an answer… XD_

* * *

**Day 163**

Wesker was sitting on his leather chair, his hands were holding a report from one of his subordinates, but his eyes had been absently gazing at the clock fastened to the wall above the bed. 2:00AM. He had tried sleeping, but his mind kept wandering in a direction he was not willing to let himself drift to. So he chose to force himself to work to control his unmanageable train of thought only to find himself not being able to concentrate, his mind still drifting; only he was now sitting in his chair instead of the cold floor. He despised how much space she had taken in his daily cogitation. How much time he could lose thinking of one single human being. Another three hours of his precious time lost.

His mind kept meandering to the misfortunes of the last few days. Those strange moments of intimacy they had shared, how he caressed her body unintentionally, how he had kissed her feverishly, only to stop himself both times. He was determined to blame those moments of delirium on hormones, but the conclusion kept leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Was it possible there was more to it than mere lust and months of abstinence? How was it that he had completely lost control of himself, his body a mind of its own, craving to touch her, to taste her?

He had to admit, there had been a true lack of a women's touch in his life the last few years. Make it ten years. Last time had to be over a year by now. She had been more than desirable, a perfect match for his perfect body. Like any other, he had known little of her and it was perfect that way. He kept her pleasured for several hours, and she had been quite skilled at the task herself, but the whole affair had still left him with a certain disappointment. They all did. He would always get bored easily and dismiss them once his needs were satiated.

But something seemed to feel different this time around. There had been a strange ecstasy invading his whole mind as he felt her aching body pressed against his. He could barely remember the last time he had felt this way. Could it be simply that by depriving himself of her touch, the moment he finally had the chance to savor her, the excitement was amplified and added to the sense of completion? Maybe she had became a challenge of some sort, a forbidden fruit he would not allow himself to taste, which could only feed to the obsession he had built towards her.

That could only be it.

His recent blunders had attracted a different array of strange looks on her part. He had figured out quickly she suspected something was going on. She could feel the strong desire he had developed for her. Her mind could only twist and interpret it as affection for her on his part. He had seen the desperate look she gave him; the implication did not need words to frustrate him immensely. How could she see through him so easily? She was burning to talk about it, he knew it, to approach the subject and convince him their mutual attraction could be consumed, but he refused categorically to tackle it and never let her even the faintest glimmer of an opening to discuss the matter.

2:30AM. He had to at least try sleeping a few hours. His body needed a minimum amount of sleep daily to process the virus properly.

He spared a glance at her and saw her sleep from where he was sitting, lying on her back, the sheet tossed in a corner from her frantic movements caused by her nightmares. He deposited the report on his desk and closed the light, then got closer to the bed, ready to sleep on the cold hard floor, for yet another night…

As he was preparing his _bed_ for the night, an unauthorized territory attracted his attention. One of the straps from the spaghetti strap pajama top she was wearing had fell from her shoulder, unintentionally revealing one of her breasts. Her right nipple was timidly peeking out, staring back at him, hardened from the cold temperature of the room. He stared at it for several minutes, unable to get his eyes off of the lovely view. It just looked exquisite: not undersized, not oversized, but a good handful none-the-less. Firm, with its own natural softness, with an adorable beauty mark a couple of inches top from the nipple. Coupled with her short pants, completely revealing her inviting legs, she could not possibly be more sexy at this very moment. His member slowly hardened in his pants, his mind filling with depraved mental images. He imagined bringing his mouth to it, waking her up with the dirty sensation of his lips sucking it, of his tongue massaging it, of his teeth softly nibbling at it. He imagined the look on her face when she was pleasured, her plump lips quivering slightly until she bit the bottom one seductively. How he would _love _to watch her bite her lip, incapable of tolerating the agonizing pleasure anymore, her look a mix of innocence and filthiness. Her soft moans would intensify quickly as he would dip his tongue in her wet sex. He pondered the idea that she had never been properly pleasured that way. No, he _knew _she had never been and would gladly remedy to the situation. Only _he _could bring her to reach the highest summit. He would watch her shake violently as the torrent of pleasure stormed through her entire body, her fingers dug deeply in the mattress. She could _only_ call his name loudly. Once, twice, thrice; he would stop counting and just enjoy the sound of her needy voice begging for his ministrations. Once he was done with her, she would be so exhausted he would manipulate her, her body completely at his mercy. He would turn her over, bring her on her knees, part her legs with his own knee and thrust inside her slowly, inch by inch, enjoying fully the almost forgotten sensation. She would gasp loudly, being abruptly awaken from her temporary slumber. He would wrap one arm around her stomach and the other around her shoulders, leaning against her back, bringing her as close as possible, the embrace intimate and overwhelming. He would press his cheek against hers or would keep his mouth close to her ear, either nibbling at her earlobe or whispering sweet words into it. Or maybe _slightly_ dirty, just so she could experience the effect she had on him. She would moan and whimper, repeating his name in ecstasy as he would thrust inside her deeply, taking her entirely, bring her to her bliss a second time…

He finally looked away, stopping himself, feeling a certain guilt from abusing her dignity. Why did she not wear that _stupid_ sweatshirt tonight? He figured he should replace the strap himself, making sure she would never find out her intimate parts were exposed for him to lust after. He bent down and reached for the strap, taking extra precaution to avoid contact with her skin to not wake her up. Unfortunately, his skin brushed hers lightly, causing her to unconsciously notice his presence next to her.

"Albert…" she mumbled, still sleeping.

She turned over, laying on her side and slipped brusquely her arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer to her. His head accidentally bumped in the hollow of her neck and his chest pressed against hers. The position was uncomfortable and awkward; he was bent down with both feet still solidly planted on the floor. He stayed still, contemplating his options. He tried to move away slowly, desperate to not wake her up, but her grip was rather strong for her petite size and it could only mean having her awaken soon if he tried to pull any harder. He sighed, almost amused at the absurdity of the situation. If she figured out what had happened or found out about the proximity of their body, they would engage in an inevitable drama; she would be convinced her feelings were reciprocated. He did not want that, even if she might not be that far from the truth; what if her feelings _were_ partially reciprocated…?

No, their respective roles were already nicely defined; he was the cruel tyrant who abused her skills to get what he wanted and she was a poor victim trapped in a prison. It was simple like that, it was safe like that, he did not have to deal with uncomfortable feelings; it _had_ to stay this way. Yet, a part of him craved for a different situation, a part of him ached to touch her, a part of him burned to freely caress her…

Snapping out of his thoughts, he weighed his options a second time. He would join her in the bed and wait until she moved away from him to slip out of it. At the very worst, if he fell asleep, he would definitely wake up before her as he always did and simply get out of the bed at that moment. Carefully, he eased down next to her. Feeling his warm body against hers, she pulled herself closer to him, hugging him more firmly, moaning softly in her sleep.

"Albert…" she let out a second time.

Unable to resist, his free arm closed around her, and he hugged her softly, taking deep breath of the divine scent emanating from her neck. The smell was indescribable; sweet: fruity and floral all at once, with a hint of bitterness and sweat. It captured him entirely every time. The faint breeze of his exhalation caressed her skin softly, causing her to moan a second time.

"Albert… I love you…" she mumbled, her voice barely audible from her unconscious state.

His fingers raised, brushed her cheek lightly. He was disconcerted by the fact it did not bother him to hear those words coming out of her mouth. It was obviously no revelation to him; it had been blatant for weeks that she still loved him, or rather, that she did love him and not the personality he had forged months ago. Only a blind man would not have noticed by now. But hearing it coming out of her mouth was a different story.

He would have thought it would have irritated him to hear her express it, reminding him how his whole operation had failed and that he never truly controlled her properly, but instead, it almost felt natural to hear it. It felt flattering. Hmm, what could be the proper word for it? It felt good. Yes, _good. _He enjoyed hearing the words coming out of her mouth. He surprised himself by hoping to hear it a second time.

Is this what he wanted, for her to love him?

After a moment of fighting with the sheets, getting uncomfortable from her current position, she left him and turned around, her back facing him, unconsciously searching for the pillow. She settled down, allowing him the freedom to leave the bed without being noticed. He looked at her for a moment, almost wishing she had stayed nestled in his arms. He wanted to touch her again, to bring her closer to him, but he decided against it. There were too many risks involved in fulfilling his desires. He left her bed and retreated to the hard floor to sleep the rest of his night.

She had not noticed what had happened and would never know about it…

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_Thanks for reading and don't feel shy to review! :)_


	19. Chapter 19

_Thanks again for the sweet reviews, I always appreciate it! :) _

_Oh and for the record, this is really just a lemon fan fiction, I don't intend to make it action-like, or horror-like. Sorry! _ It would totally feel forced and be utterly bad._

_This chapter is rated M for a very good reason. _

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**Day 166**

Wesker came back to the apartment after leaving for a few hours; another pointless meeting with his superiors in which he did not really have much progress to show. As he opened the door to the apartment and took his first glimpse of the content, he immediately noticed she was not sitting on her bed. He had taken care of removing the computer's power plug before leaving, but he was praying she had not figured out a new way to infuriate him. Maybe it had been a mistake not to handcuff her to her bed. The door fully opened, he finally noticed her reading on his leather couch. He entertained the idea of asking her to move away for a few seconds, but decided against it after all. The atmosphere was still uncomfortable between the two of them; he kept the conversation to a minimum to ensure she had no possibility to bring the _subject_ forward.

Emily watched Wesker grab something to read and install himself on her bed. She had not been able to resist sitting on his chair while he was gone; it provided her with the illusion of power over him. There was a dominant aura associated with the position, as if it was his throne. How many hours had she vegetated on the bed or in the kitchen as he ignored her completely reading all night on this God forsaken chair. The idea of watching him enter the apartment and realize she had abducted his throne was too tempting to refuse. She imagined he would have forced her to give it away once he came back, but instead he yielded it to her. The symbolism of it was overwhelming and intoxicating. It was enticing her, burning within her. She stood up, walked slowly in his direction, barely conscious of her actions anymore.

Like a feline, she climbed on the bed, then on her hands and knees, moved slowly towards him. There was something extremely dirty in the way she looked at him, but her eyes still showed a hint of softness. Still on her hands and knees, she stared at him silently as he was sitting on the bed leaned against the wall, their face only a few inches apart.

"If you wanted your bed back, Miss Reynolds, you could have simply asked," he stated with a hint of mockery in his voice.

"It's not the bed that I want."

He frowned at first, then understood immediately. He moved his arm up to block her but she foresaw it and sent it away parrying. Normally, her meager strength would be overpowered by his, but he was completely taken by surprise. She forced her lips against his. His hands pushed her shoulders as a feeble attempt at demonstrating his objection, but his lips answered hers. His hormones acting up on him, the weakened boundaries he had hopelessly imposed on himself the last few days finally shattered by the simple proximity of her body, by the delicate taste of her lips. She eventually stopped herself, tempted to witness his reactions.

"What do you think you are doing?" he asked with palpable annoyance in his cold voice.

"I want you," she stated. It was not a demand, it was an order.

"I'm afraid that is not possible," he forced the words out of his mouth, with his usual cold composure, but his entire body burned for her touch. She felt so different, he had trouble recognizing her, yet, he was desperate to see more; her sudden change of attitude was amazingly alluring.

"Shut up!" she whispered, interrupting him.

Who did she think she was? Normally, he would have scowled her right away for daring to speak to him in such a manner, but there was something so wild in her look, some hopeless lust that he could not possibly hope to argue with.

She bit her bottom lip, looking at him with the same fiery eyes. She reached for his sunglasses, then, in a swift move, she snatched them and threw them away. They clanked loudly as they hit the wall. Wow, that felt so God damn satisfying… He looked furious at her unexpected insubordination, but withheld any aggressive reactions for the moment. Her look softened slightly as she lost herself deeply in his strange eyes. It reminded her of the first time she had the chance to admire them, how excited she had felt at that moment, how bravely she overcame her fears and reached to caress his face. Just like the first time, they gave her the courage to act on her impulses.

She brought her lips to his again, her tongue eagerly searching for his. He kept a hand on her shoulder and half-heartedly fought her away. She knew perfectly with his inhuman strength that if he truly wanted to push her away, he would have done so already. So it convinced her to move further. At long last, he recovered from his momentary hormonal take over and shoved her away.

"Miss Rey…"

She covered his lips with one finger, ordering him to stay silent. He slowly calmed down, then his lips answered to her touch, kissing her finger softly. She licked her lips then moved close, kissing him once again. He immediately responded to it, having no further intention to stop her.

Her hands reached for the first button of his shirt and started unbuttoning it slowly. He shivered as her soft touch brushed his skin lightly. He wanted to know the sensation of her skin under his fingertips as well, so his hands reached down, trying to slide under her shirt. She left the task she was engaged with and grabbed both his arms, trying to pull them out of under her shirt. Her strength was pitiful against his and his hands kept moving up. She put all her energy into it and desperately tried to pull them out again. He finally gave up, getting the message, and let her pin both his arms on the mattress. She broke the kiss and looked him into the eyes, shaking her head, motioning her refusal. He loathed the idea of not being in control of the situation, of being ordered around, but she was so enticing at this very moment that he let her wrap him around her finger. Her hands finally returned to his shirt, unfastened the last button. She opened the shirt fully, revealing his toned torso. Her gaze went down, admiring the cut muscles. She bit her lip, enjoying the view to its full extent.

Wow, there was no denying it; he was a very attractive man. She might have been pretty deep in her delusional hole, but even with her full rationality, she could only agree there was nothing wrong with his body. It was simply perfect. He was by far the hottest man she could possibly dream to touch.

She moved her head closer, bringing her lips to his earlobe. She sucked and nibbled at it sensually, her tongue warm against his skin, her breath hot into his ear. She noticed his breath accelerating, so her hands roamed his body, caressing every part he had denied her for too long to touch. Once the sensation of her hands on his skin could not fill her anymore, she used her lips instead. She tasted every single part that was currently available to her, leaving a warm trail on his body as she slowly made her way down. As she was occupied kissing his lower abdomen, her chin accidentally touched the fabric of his jeans, at the exact location his member pressed hard against his pants. He twitched slightly; the sensation was so delectable, he could not resist grunting fiercely. He had almost forgotten how pleasant it could feel as nothing besides his own hand had touched it for over a year now. Noticing what had just happened, she stopped herself than raised so her head met his, looking at him suggestively. Her smile took a weird twist enjoying the situation almost cruelly, the desire burning in her eyes. Her hand reached down and touched that very spot that had made him shudder a few seconds ago, her eyes so hungry for his moans. He could not help it, he grunted louder, enjoying the pleasurable sensation without reservation. No, clearly nothing had felt _good_ like this in years… She started stroking at the pants, putting enough pressure for him to appreciate the amazing sensation even with her hand over the fabric, her fully opened hand going up and down. His eyes half-close, he had to fight so hard to keep them opened to prevent her from winning and taking control of him entirely. _Always_ had to be in control one way or another… Or… Maybe… Not this time…

His eyes finally closed and at long last, he allowed her to possess and control him entirely, his body unable to fight it anymore. Her smile widened; a mix of love and pure lust and the same unusual viciousness as well. Oh, she enjoyed herself _almost_ as much as he did. He released a heavy gasp, and sent his head downward, his eyes tightly shut, his face tightened in delightful pleasure… His hands moved up, searched for her breast, found them, cupped them, but she pushed him off with an unbending determination to control the situation all by herself.

After a few minutes, she stopped herself. He grunted his disapproval opening his eyes back. He saw her eyeing him with the same feral look. Will that _God damn_ vicious smile ever disappear? On her knees she bent down, her hands propping herself up on the bed, and moved away from him. Her eyes stayed on him the whole time, considering him as a very delicious meal. Eventually, she reached the end of the bed and climbed down, putting her knees on the floor, her elbows leaned on the mattress. She reached up, grabbed his legs with her hands and pulled him closer to her, his legs pending from the bed sitting up. Her gaze was frighteningly intense with a glimpse suggesting "I got you… you're mine!". He looked at her uncertain, eager for her care but still lost in his thoughts. She kept her gaze on him as her hands reached down and unzipped his pants. Her delicate fingers found his hardened member and softly got it out of his boxers, while the other hand was busy pulling his pants down. She broke the stare for a second to look down at the device. He was so big, that only persuaded her to want it even more.

Slowly, softly, she stroked it.

At first he looked in pain, as if he was restraining himself from exploding instantly, as if he was holding himself from appreciating this to its full extent. He would only breathe heavily, his mouth closed, but as she worked harder to make him forget his surroundings and just enjoy the pleasure, his mouth opened and let out a gasp of pure satisfaction understanding fully he would not win his own internal battle. Eventually his moans intensified, becoming deeper and raspier, up until he could not hold it anymore and his moans were yearning for her smooth touch.

How he was desperate for her to put it in her mouth... She was still looking at him intensely, the same sexy wild glimpse in her fiery eyes. He cupped her face with one hand, ran his thumb on her lips. He could tell she enjoyed teasing him, making him wait and long for her affection. He had never thought she had this viciousness in her and it made her even more desirable.

As she watched him in pleasure, she could only notice his cold composure completely faded away. God that she loved to see him so eager, so needy… so vulnerable… so human… She knew perfectly he was aching for her to put it in her mouth, making it even more appealing to wait a little longer. How much she adored watching him desperate for her care. She had full control of the situation and she greedily savored every second of it. She was on top this time and he could not do _anything_ about it. No, for once, he would _not_ ruin that moment. He could not take it away from her, as he took everything else away from her already… Her life, her work, her principles, her dignity, her sanity… Everything gone… But this moment was all _hers_, making him at _her_ mercy, making him needy, demanding of _her_… Control, it was all about _control_… And maybe a slight bit of _vengeance_.

He was so hopeless, tortured, she could see it in his eyes… desperate for her… It finally convinced her to attack the beast and end his suffering. She moved her hand down, cupped his testicles, then from the bottom to the top, ran her tongue on his member, appreciating its length fully. Her lips reached the tip, sucked on it softly, then she let her tongue savor it a second time, circling it voluptuously.

"Fuck…" he let out after an eager, long and deep rasp.

The harsh word sounded so out of place from the calculating man generally so in control of his words, ridiculously polite and polished.

She closed her eyes, his voice craving for her special treatment. His voice desperate, needy… so sexy… She fed off of his moans, applying herself harder to the task. She took him deep in her mouth, making slow and long movements, exerting more pressure as she reached the tip, her small hand softly stroking in cadence the part she could not reach with her mouth.

The sensation was so exquisite, he leaned his back against the mattress, wanting to fully appreciate the delectable moment.

"Fuck… Emily… Don't stop…" he let out grunting ferociously at the breathtaking sensation of her mouth moving up and down, going as deep as she could.

Emily… Not Miss Reynolds… No, just _Emily_… How she had longed to hear her first name come out of his mouth, to be addressed as his equal and not by his ridiculously formal manners to always remind her she was simply a tool. It encouraged her to take him deeper, to accelerate the pace, to suck him more intensely, to put her entire mind and body to it, hoping desperately to make him happy, to fill a place in his mind.

His breath accelerated, his grunts became louder; he was enjoying himself oh so very much. He thought about her, about how the naïve, innocent and obedient woman he had developed an unwanted attraction for was sucking his dick skillfully at this very moment. It made her even more endearing. He thought about how she seemed to enjoy herself almost as much as he did; her sex moistening increasingly with every grunt escaping his mouth. She wanted him to touch her, picturing the incredible sensation of his wet tongue massaging her moist skin as she moaned her pleasure loudly, her mouth full with his member, but she decided against it, wanting her care and affection to be unreciprocated for this one time.

As his hips started to move in cadence with her mouth's movement, she pinned them down with both hands, determined to remain the sole holder of his ascension to paradise. His hand tangled in her hair, following her movements, happy to let her take the lead and drive him to his bliss. It had been over a year since last time he felt a warm mouth around his member and it had never felt so divine, so fulfilling, as if the forbidden obsession he had developed towards her made the moment even more pleasurable, even more gratifying. Not to mention she was quite skilled at the task as she was at anything she ever applied herself to. Or maybe that was how it felt to be sucked by someone who loved you; they genuinely cared to drive you to the top, making the trip as enjoyable as possible. He could not remember anymore… Not that he could remember _anything_ at the moment…

She continued listening to his moans and gasps as if they were music to her ears. How desperately had she waited for this moment of ecstasy? To hear him yearning for _her_ affection, _her_ care. Because she was so disconnected with her rationality at that point, her head confused the sexual act and could not process this had absolutely nothing to do with affection nor care, but was simply the results of his body needing the denied touch of a woman for too long.

He was so eager to make this last longer, to not escape this beautiful dream and be rudely brought back to reality, having to face the consequences, but he could not hold it anymore and released himself in her mouth grunting savagely, the orgasm violent, his mouth fully opened. It only lasted a few seconds, the best seconds of his life in a long time. She looked up at him as she felt his warm seed being released in her mouth in pulses. He looked completely in pain, his features so tensed, his fingers dug in the mattress. For a second she wondered if she was hurting him, if she should stop. Then his face relaxed, his eyes wide opened and he let out a long and deep raspy sigh of pleasure, emptying his lungs all at once from all the stress he had accumulated in the last few weeks. She closed her eyes, working hard to finish him off properly as she listened to his voice, filling her with a true sense of accomplishment. Once his pure moment of ecstasy was clearly over, she looked up, saw his chest rising slowly until he let out another long and meaningful sigh of contentment. His face relaxed, contented, his eyes kept closed. There was something proud in her eyes as she climbed back on the bed to lay her lean body right next to his, one of her arm and leg resting on top of him, as if she had just won the battle. His eyes stayed closed for a moment. He enjoyed the closeness of her body against his. How much he would like to lay here with her and remain captured in her spell for another hour. He looked down at her; her eyes were filled with hopes, gentleness, love… How strong and weak she looked all at once. His arms wanted to keep her tightly pressed against him where she truly belonged. If all he felt for her was lust, how could he be so eager to keep her close to him after being satisfied?

He dreaded having to open his mouth to break the spell, he would love to pretend there was no consequence to this moment, but he could not. He was fully aware he had to say something. He knew he had to deal with this. Fix this.

She looked at him tenderly, waiting hopelessly for any return of affection. She could see something soft in his eyes, some strange hidden affection, until she witnessed them transforming slowly into something more familiar. From a hint of softness, they become cold and detached. His brows contracted, his eyes squinted as his mouth opened and his cold demeanor resurfaced:

"What was that for?" he finally asked, any hint of affection completely eradicated.

She shrugged, suddenly looking away.

"What do you expect out of this exactly?" he asked coldly.

Her voice came out nervous and timid, her eyes avoiding his glare.

"I don't know… I just… I thought you needed it…" she almost whispered.

She stared at the wall absently, doubting herself at the ideas she still pondered could be shared or not.

She had sunk so deep down in her own delusions, in her ridiculous fantasies she had built to cope with the unbearable reality she was forced to live through. She had created her own world and truth in her mind. Did she truly love him? She could not tell. Somehow it felt like love, but she was still not ready to fully accept it yet. Maybe she had simply _created_ it to support his mistreatments more easily, to give this a meaning when it clearly had none, to survive through it and make it tolerable.

She acknowledged perfectly how ridiculous the words that would come out of her mouth could sound, but it was stronger than her, she had to expel them out of her mind; it was like vomit that could not be held back anymore. It had to be spewed out, as if by saying it aloud, it would all suddenly make it true, it would became _believable_.

"I saw it in your eyes, Albert. You really do care about me… There is still a good man within you, struggling to get out," she stated seriously, finally gathering the courage to look up at him. "I thought maybe if I gave you affection, if I was there for you maybe that "good" part of you would slowly free itself… That you would finally accept your love for me and we could be happy together…"

In any other normal situation, she would have realized how insane her idea was, but being kidnapped and held in that prison for almost six months, her sanity had clearly reached its limits. She was searching despairingly for any type of relationship with a human being, and the only one available to her was this cruel asshole… She was desperately hanging on to the feelings she had developed for him more than three months ago and hopelessly searched at that very moment for the sweet Albert that had comforted her, listened to her and looked at her lovingly for almost three months. No, she could _not_ believe it had been all an act. No, she could _not_ believe at least part of it was not truly felt…

Astonished by her complete naivety, he raised from the bed leaving her no other choice than to stare at his back. Her touch had suddenly started burning his skin and he had to stay away from her in the eventuality her _disease_ was transmittable. How ridiculous could she be…? How naïve… How infantile! How could he possibly really care for her when she had filled her head with such idiocies? He had to stay away so her weaknesses could not taint him. He turned her words in his head again and they suddenly took a new light. He realized how they were actually truly amusing, up until he could not hold it anymore and his laugh came out loudly, the evil laugh so typical of him. She stood up too, feeling hurt and disabused in same time.

He finally turned around, his evil laugh refusing to stop. He cupped her chin, looking at her amused. At long last, he stopped laughing to her own relief.

"You are so naïve, Miss Reynolds," he stated, highly amused.

She pulled her head violently, escaping from his grip. She looked at him with resentment, regretting sorely her fond feelings for him.

"That is who I am, Miss Reynolds, a cruel, insensitive and unmerciful monster. Don't fool yourself, I will never be different…" he said proudly, smiling provocatively at her. "Although, I highly appreciated your little _favor_, don't expect any reciprocation on my part," he paused for a second, enjoying the frustration building on her features. "What you have been witnessing for months now is who I really am, the previous months were all an act, Miss Reynolds. I skillfully manipulated you into what I wanted. Unfortunately, it seems to have left certain damage on you, did it not?" he questioned coldly.

Even if she had known all along he would deny everything she had to say, the words still painfully pierced through her heart like a needle. She simply could not hold it anymore, her eyes quickly filled with tears. He kept looking at her coldly as the guilt hastily rose within him. He had only seen her cry a handful of times and the look of the petite woman desperately suffering in front of his eyes was clearly affecting him more than he would have presumed. As he saw a fresh torrent of tears fall down her cheeks, he realized the lust did truly hide affection she had undeniably detected. Clearly, the feeling of contentment after her little favor had been too powerful to be denied. It was definitely not love, but there was truly something strong pulling him to her; some kind of genuine care, some kind of bizarre unexpected affection.

He left quickly for the bathroom, impatient to not have to stare at the painful scene anymore. He looked at himself in the mirror, frustration and shame easily readable on his expression. How could he have fallen so easily for her…? She was just like all the other ones: plain, boring, emotional… Or was she…? He sighed dreadfully, grabbed the Kleenex box and got out of the bathroom. She was still standing up, crying helplessly… It tickled him to no point, he wanted her to stop; her annoying sobs were so intolerable. Correction : she was not like all the other ones, she was worse. Weak, annoying, insufferable… Always crying like a _baby_…

"Here," he said coldly throwing the box at her.

She moved out of the way of the box, causing it to crash on the wall. Her gaze stayed on him, sobs intensifying with every seconds. She hated him, despised him… A cruel fucking monster… Why… Why did it hurt so much… Why could she not stop… stop… loving him… Damn it!

He slowly moved closer, partly doubting himself. Eventually, he was only a few inches from her. He kept looking at her, his gaze softening. Softly, he closed his arms around her, leaning his chin on top of her head. She answered to his comfort, hugging him tightly… She kept crying, evacuating the last three months of stress, despair and frustration.

"Shhh, don't cry Emily…" he whispered tenderly.

She moaned at the sound of her name coming out of his mouth. It was soothing and comforting; bringing her a peace she desperately sought for. They stayed still for a moment, his affection genuinely appreciated. After a few minutes, she stopped crying, her face still buried in his shirt. Despite the soaking result of her sobs on his shirt, she could still smell the musky scent of his body. She looked up at him eager for his affection. He softly caressed her cheek, forcing her to close her eyes to intensify the delightful sensation. He suddenly bent down only to lift her up. She leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her arms around his neck. He gently put her down on the bed, her eyes unable to look away. He joined her as soon as he ensured she was lying properly, placing her like a delicate and rare flower. He gathered her in his arms, pressing her tightly against his body. She laid her head on his chest, moaning softly out of satisfaction. Her eyes closed, her mind settling and for a second she forgot about her crumbled life. She forgot all her pain and sorrows. _Nothing_ else mattered. He caressed her back fondly, giving her the affection and comfort she longed for.

She would spend the night in his arms, sleeping deeply and peacefully. Her first night without any nightmares.


	20. Chapter 20

_I'm not super happy with this chapter. At first I really liked the idea, but now I just find it kind of lame. I still thought I should stick with what I had planned._

_I haven't heard from some of the more "regular" readers in a few chapters now. Are you guys still out there? Are you still enjoying this or do you hate it now? I would just like to hear your thoughts! :)_

_Well, this is the longest chapter so far, so, enjoy!_

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**Day 173**

One week. One week since she had sucked his _fucking_ dick and had gotten barely anything out of it, except maybe a terribly sore jaw and an incredibly painful feeling of rejection and of dirtiness, not in the sexual way. She was left with the feeling that she was once again just a tool for his own amusement and purposes. Why had she lowered herself to do such a degrading thing for him? Not that the act itself was degrading but rather that she had served as a cheap pleasure toy he did not care about.

Seven days. Seven days had passed since she had spent a whole night in his arms to wake up the day after her arms desperately searching for his presence in the bed. Not only had she been alone in her bed, he had left the apartment for a few hours to take care of his business. Her mind and heart full of hopes, she had thought that maybe they had moved forward a notch in their whole twisted relationship. That once he came back, there would be more than indifferent stares and cold-blooded orders. How wrong she had been. Not only was he back to his old self, but to add insult to injury, he had also given her _the speech_. "About last night, Miss Reynolds," he had started, his usual cold formality adding salt to the wound, "I simply wished to provide you with the comfort you seemed to have be needing for quite some time now. I understand you have the need for a human presence by your side and I thought filling this gap for you might help you return to your normal self. Do not get the wrong idea; I only want you fully operational for my own benefits. Let us say we are even for the _service_ you nicely provided me with. Understood?" God, how dreadful those words had been. He could have decided to slowly penetrate her heart with a knife that it would have been just as excruciating. At the time, she had been so stunned by his boldness, so paralyzed by his cruelty, that she absently nodded, too dumbfounded to be able to even open her mouth. Once she had been all by herself in the shower, her mind had finally caught up with the meaning of his words and she had crouched at the bottom of the bath. Holding her head in her hands, she had cried her heart out for what had seemed like one hour, feeling so confused and distressed her whole body had been shaking uncontrollably.

One hundred sixty four hours. One hundred sixty four hours of "Miss Reynolds", of cold looks, of being ordered around in the laboratories, of being ignored in the apartment, of feeling absolutely miserable. The sound of his moans and grunts still echoing in the her mind, reminding her of the terrible mistake she had committed by offering herself so intimately to a man without mercy, to a man without feelings. To have wanted so hopelessly to make him fill good, to please him, to release him, to give him affection, to offer him her heart. In hopes he would open up and provide her with the same, provide her with the affection she was so desperate for, provide her with enough to fill the continually growing void in her heart and mind. Provide her with a purpose to keep hanging on, to keep going.

Nine thousand eight hundred twenty-three minutes. Nine thousand eight hundred twenty-three minutes of wanting to vomit, of wanting to scream, of wanting to hurt him, of wanting to torture him… of wanting to die. Just die…

No, what she truly wanted was to stop feeling so fucking miserable.

She watched him completing paperwork on his chair, more precisely his throne, as she felt rejected sitting lonely on her bed, her knees gathered in her arms. She buried her face in her knees, hoping a fresh torrent of tears might slightly help ease the pain, but nothing came out. She was so desperate, so sick of everything that she did not even have the strength left to cry.

She had to do something, do something before she sank too deep into her feelings of misery, into her feelings of emptiness. Empty. Yes, all she felt was empty.

She stood up and walked to him, until she stopped herself a few inches from him, standing silently, her gaze a dangerous seriousness. He knew perfectly she was standing there, but chose to ignore her by staying concentrated on his paperwork. When he realized she would not leave, he talked, not even bothering to take his eyes off of his work.

"Miss Reynolds, what do you want?"

"I want to go home," she stated, realizing that might just be exactly what she truly needed: home.

His head finally rose displaying his ever so cynical smile.

"And what makes you think I will grant your wish?" he questioned, a hint of mockery in his cold voice.

"Please…" she pleaded desperately, tears slowly filling her eyes.

His smile disappeared; he was undoubtedly getting irritated.

"Stop this, you are here to stay," he ordered her.

Her knees weakening and her legs shaking, she let herself drop to her knees. Out of complete distress, she clasped his pants, pulling strongly on the fabric, then rested her head on his lap. She looked absently at the arm of the chair, feeling the tears running down her cheeks. His patience being challenged with every sob she produced, he wanted to push her off of him, to get her off of his back. He wanted to slap her, slap some _fucking_ sense into her. Did he truly have to watch her cry once again? Was there ever an end to her annoying quivering and weeps?

"Maybe… Maybe if you liked me… If you showed me some affection… kindness… Maybe it would be easier… Maybe I wouldn't feel so miserable…" she let out her voice broken by all her sobs, her head still rested on his lap.

He chuckled.

"Like you? Why would I show you affection, Miss Reynolds? What for?" he asked amused.

"I'm sure you like me… I can feel it…"

"Christ…" he thought to himself, "not that again…"

"Miss Reynolds, don't fool yourself, you're merely a tool to me."

"No, I'm not, I refuse to think so…"

He sighed, his annoyance palpable.

"I have to be more than that… I can't stand being so used… You must like me… just a little bit… even just a little bit…" she started crying more vigorously, her entire body shaking. "You have to… I could feel it a few months ago, you were so sweet…"

"Stop it! I told you, you mean nothing to me. You never did!" he hissed between his teeth.

Her sobs intensified with every word escaping his mouth.

"You're lying… You have to…"

Her hands clasped his pants tighter; she felt so hopeless.

He was so furious… How dare she? How dare she bother him like this, plead to him like this? How dare she make him feel so… guilty…

With the realization of his feelings, his hands rested on her shoulders. For a slight second, she believed she had finally touched him and he would show her some kind of affection, but her illusions were shattered as she felt the pressure being applied on her shoulders and felt herself fall on the ground, her butt hitting the floor painfully. Just when she thought he could not possibly hurt her even more, he proved to her otherwise. A fresh torrent of tears fell down her cheeks.

"Stop crying! I've had enough of your annoying sniveling," he hissed between his teeth.

For a second she was startled by his words, only to find herself crying even more vigorously.

"STOP IT!" he yelled.

Angered, his order clearly not successful, he stood up and grabbed her roughly by the arm. He dragged her to the bathroom, then dropped her on the cold ceramic floor, like a child that needed to be scolded. She crashed loudly, hurting her wrists in the operation. As she tried to steady herself and voice her disapproval, she heard the door being slammed behind her and the keys in the lock. The humiliation was indescribable. Panicked, she stood up then hammered at the door loudly.

"Albert! Albert, please let me out!" she screamed at him.

He ignored her, resuming his paperwork, his concentration greatly affected.

"Let me out! Albert!" she banged the door with all her might.

She served it her special treatment for over five minutes with no result. She finally collapsed to the floor, resuming her strenuous crying. She felt so miserable… In the last six months, she had never felt so abused. She had clearly nothing left… Nothing…

For over twenty minutes, she curled in a fetal position on the cold floor surprised she still had the energy left to keep sobbing. Her old life had been taken away from her and she had no hope left to ever return to it. Her new life left a deep hollow inside of her that nobody seemed keen to fill. She could not muster the courage to move forward. He had completely drained all her reservoir of willpower to move on.

What was the point of living anymore?

Her eyes suddenly glimpsed at the mirror over the sink. What if she broke it, if she took a shard and stabbed herself in the chest with it? She would be free… free…

He would not take that away as well, right? He would not dare ruining her ascent to freedom a second time?

She rummaged through the drawers in hopes to find something big and heavy enough to break the mirror. A hair dryer could have worked, but he had never provided her with such a practical tool. Who would she pretty herself up for? The tyrant that abused her everyday until he disposed of her once she became useless? The only hard enough object to possibly break through a mirror was the shower head. She took it in her hands and started hitting the mirror with all her strength until it broke in dozens of pieces flying in the sink and on the floor. She wanted to end this as quickly as possible before she had the chance to change her mind, to fall back into her pattern of emotional dependency towards him, like old comfortable shoes. She took a huge shard lying on the floor and was about to strike herself with it when she heard the door break, a strange whistle and within a second she was projected on the bed.

He had heard the mirror broke and knew immediately what she was about to commit. With his light speed, he broke the door, knocked the shard out of her hands and got her out of there.

He was panting, having difficulty catching his breath. So was she.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Let me do it… LET ME FUCKING DIE!" she yelled back at him.

He walked to her, grabbed her arm roughly and forced her to stand up. Under normal circumstances, she would have winced under his tight grip, but her body and mind were so exhausted she let him manipulate her like a vulgar puppet.

"_I_ decide when you die! _I_ decide whether you live or not!" he was so mad; she had never seen him so infuriated.

"Why do you care?" she yelled, the opportunity to throw her venom at him too tempting to pass.

"Christ…"

He turned around, his breath still heavy, his heart beating uncontrollably. He could not stand her anymore… Will she ever give up? He grabbed his head with both hands, desperate to calm himself down. Suddenly, he realized he got so scared… So scared to lose her… So scared of holding her limp body in his arms, her gaze livid. So scared of never getting the chance again to inhale her delicate scent. So scared of never tasting her skin, of never thrusting himself inside of her, of never hearing her call his name loudly powerless under his ministrations.

God that he hated her, hated her ability to make him feel so vulnerable, make him feel so weak, so undeniably human. Yes, he truly hated her, and yet, he also did not.

His movements impulsive and frantic, he turned around, brought her abruptly to him by the forearms and hugged her so tightly that she could barely breathe. His reaction completely startled her, her body frozen by his touch.

He broke his embrace to cup her face, his movements brusque and still relatively panicked.

"God, Emily... Never do that to me again, never!" he stopped for a second, gathering his thoughts. He hoped his order had not given away his true desire, but he had trouble keeping full control of the words escaping his mouth at the moment. His face was so stern, so convinced, it destabilized her. "This is the last time. Do you hear me?" his voice had a stunning seriousness to it.

She nodded weakly still unsure what to make of this sudden change of attitude. If one thing he had proven to her in the last few weeks was that his fugacious mark of affection were always punctuated by complete rejection and denial a few hours later.

He kissed her on the cheek almost in a paternalistic way, then buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent, hoping strongly there would never be a day he could not get the chance to smell it again. His hand tangled in her hair, his other hand slid on her back and he forcefully held her pressed against him as to never let her escaped his grip, to never leave his side again.

She hugged him back.

* * *

_Wesker slowly enters the bathroom. The air is gloomy; the bathroom is strangely bigger than in his memory. The neon lights are flickering annoyingly. As he walks, he notices the sound his shoes make on the ceramic floor; a wet sound. He looks down and notices the large pool of blood covering the floor. Further down a body is lying in the blood. He runs quickly to it, his heartbeat accelerating with every step he makes. He sees her, her body limp, her eyes completely livid. He gathers her in his arms; her body is so cold, the blood from the wound in her chest is already drying. She has been dead for several hours already. He presses her against him, buries his face in her neck. _

_"Emily… No…"_

_All of a sudden, she wakes up, her eyes slowly finding her usual brown. Something is still off about them; a curious coldness. Unexpectedly, he feels himself being pushed against the floor violently and his head savagely hits the ceramic. He collects himself, only to realize he is lying on his bed, completely naked. She is naked as well, straddling him. The strange coldness in her eyes is gone; she is looking at him tenderly._

_"Albert…"_

_"Emily…"_

_She bends down, kisses him softly. His hands run through her hair, caress her back, fondle her softly. She breaks the kiss, then suddenly, her eyes change back. There is something strange about her, something crazy; she has nothing to do with the woman he knows._

_Despite the strangeness of the situation, he cannot resist, he looks down and admires the view. She sees him stare at her breasts, gives him a mocking smile._

_When she talks, her voice sounds foreign and strangely familiar all together, but has nothing to do with how she would normally sound._

_"You've been dying to touch these, haven't you?"_

_"Yes…"_

_"Fondle them, kiss them."_

_"Yes…"_

_She grabs his hands, puts them on top of her breasts. He starts massaging them, appreciates their firmness, the softness of her skin, their weight in his palms. She feels his erection against her butt cheeks. She chuckles, almost in a maniacal way. Her voice is so unusual, it startles him. She does not look pleasured in the least, in fact, he seems to be the only one enjoying himself._

_"You're desperate to fuck me, aren't you?" she hisses between her teeth._

_"Yes…"_

_"How desperate?" her head tilts, her features show a vicious curiosity._

_He groans; he does not like this game, but something inside of him refrains him from not "participating". His voice is not his, his body is not his, everything just happens. He has no control over things. _

_She moves her head a few inches from his, their eyes meeting, her stare menacing, _

_"How desperate?" her gaze is so insistent, he has no choice but to abide._

_"Fucking desperate…"_

_She keeps staring at him with that same vicious satisfied smile. He watches her raise her pelvis, then, inch by inch, she pushes him inside her, painfully taking her time. Her face does not budge, displaying the same wicked smile. He gasps at the sensation, moans his pleasure, his voice deep and desperate. She starts rocking, excruciatingly slowly at first to tease him, then eventually quickens the pace. He moans louder, his heartbeat accelerating with every thrust._

_"You'd love to hear me moan, wouldn't you?"_

_"Yes…"_

_Her starts hearing her soft moans, her helpless gasps; it sounds like her own voice, it sounds just like he always imagined they would echo in his ears. She takes his hand in hers, lays it flat against her belly and slides it down taking her time, anticipating how delightful the sensation will feel. He gets the message; his thumb reaches for her sensitive bud and starts rubbing it softly, slowly. Her moans intensify as she sends her head backward._

_"Albert…" she lets out, unable to resist calling his name, her eyes closing as his thumb works harder to drive her to the top. _

_She stops moaning abruptly, her eyes wide open and it happens again; her face looks demented, deranged._

_"You love it that I'm so powerless against you? That you can manipulate me, abuse of me and I'm still desperate for you…?"_

_He hesitates for a moment, unsure if that piece of information should be shared with her, but then admits it willingly._

_"Yes…"_

_She quickens the pace, rocks harder and takes him deeper. He cannot resist; his hips rock with hers, trying to push himself as profoundly as he could, hoping to possess her entirely. But she will not even produce a sound, while _he_ feels so close to his climax._

_"You _love_ to hear me tell you I love you, don't you?"_

_"Yes…"_

_"You're _dying_ to hear it, aren't you?"_

_"Yes…"_

_Her voice is so disconnected, so maniacal, but also so familiar. It strangely reminds him of somebody, but he cannot quite grasp who._

_"It makes you feel strong, it makes you feel almighty… it makes you feel special!"_

_"Yes…"_

_She brings her face only a few inches from his, her eyes flashes with a deep red light, just like his._

_"That's because you're weak," she states arrogantly. The voice is his, as if he just spoke the words himself._

_It disconcerts him and he stops enjoying himself immediately. The pleasure turns quickly into pain as she keeps rocking, taking him deeper every time. He takes hold of her face with his hand, pushes her away and applies all of his strength on crushing her jaw. But she will not stop rocking, clearly unaffected by his powerful grip._

_"You're weak… You're desperate for her because you have weak feelings… Weak feelings for her…"_

_He keeps pressing his hand against her neck but she will not even flinch, clearly insensible to the pain he is desperate to afflict her with. _

_"Who knows, maybe you might even…" she brings her face back a few inches from his, her eyes almost touch his, "_love_ her!" she hisses between her teeth. She laughs maniacally and he distinctly recognizes the laugh for his own._

_Panicked, he slaps her with all his might. She crumbles to the side, whimpering. When she straightens to look at him, her eyes are back to their usual brown, full of sorrow._

_"Albert… Why did you hit me…?" she asks, her voice fully recovered, trembling with subtle sobs._

_His hand covers the red spot where he hit her, caresses it gently._

_"Dear heart…" he lets out softly. "I'm so sorry… I didn't mean to hit you… Forgive me…" his words escape his consciousness. His voice is only a whisper, full of guilt and anguish._

_Her face meets his again._

_"See…_ weak_!" she lets out proudly as her eyes flash a deeper red and her voice comes out cold and disdainful, just like his own._

_He is furious; he pushes her off of him and forces her on her back, pressing his body against her. He then thrusts himself inside of her violently, hoping to hurt her in his maneuver. She shrieks loudly, her face tensed by the excruciating pain. Her eyes open and she looks at him with a profound disappointment. _

_Back to being the one in control, he pulls out of her slowly only to reenter with careful attention to actually provide her with pleasure this time. Her eyes half-close and she gasps satisfyingly. He keeps thrusting with an unusual softness as he watches her reopen her eyes and look at him warmly, a gentle smile running on her lips. He eventually quickens the pace listening to her needy moans, applying himself to drive her to the top. _

_"Albert…"_

_"Emily…"_

_"Albert… I love you…" her hands roam his face, cup it gently._

_He covers her mouth with his, his tongue eager to find hers. He comes quickly, the climax exquisite and amazingly painful in same time._

* * *

Wesker woke up abruptly. Of all the dreams he had in his life, this had to be one of the most twisted. He sighed heavily then rubbed his face with his hand, trying to help himself wake up and wash away the strange feeling his dream had left on him.

"I think you had a nightmare, Albert."

Her voice sounded strangely close to his ear, it was at that moment he realized she was laying by his side, her arm and head resting on his torso. She was looking up at him, her eyes showing deep affection and genuine worry. He suddenly noticed his body had answered to hers in his sleep; one of his arms was wrapped around her lean body.

Earlier in the night, once he had ensured she was out of danger and calmed down, he had laid her on her bed to go clean the shards of the broken mirror in the bathroom. Once he had come back, she was sleeping soundlessly, exhausted from the previous tragedy. He had sat on her bed and had caressed her cheek softly, appreciating the calm look on her face over the distressed one as he discovered her on the bathroom floor about to strike herself to death. He was truly at a loss on what to do from now on. He had figured a night of sleep might bring him the perspective he desperately needed.

Now she had joined him on the floor, witnessing his reactions over this truly troubling nightmare and he still had not the time to ponder properly what to do about the previous misfortune of the night. He still had no clue how to act with her moving forward.

It would be so easy to fall in his usual pattern. It would be so easy to push her away, because it was what he knew best. So he did that exactly.

It took him several seconds to gather his usual cold composure, the overwhelming dream still lingering in his mind.

"What are you doing here, Miss Reynolds?"

"You were stirring in your sleep, you kept saying "no, no!" and calling my name… I thought maybe you needed me, needed some comfort..."

He looked at her deeply, being fully aware she was expecting him to push her away. Her forsaken look was so desperate, it almost looked moving.

"I don't need you," he finally let out, the words so heavy of meaning. His voice felt so controlled and cold, it almost sounded suspicious.

"Ok…" she finally said, no surprise in her voice, but an obvious disappointment.

What was she thinking, that he would suddenly declare is undying love for her? She would lay on him and he would tell her that was exactly what he had dreamed of all along? Even though he had spent the last few weeks making sure every last bit of her soul knew she was just a tool to him…? Skillfully rejecting her every time they became more intimate. And there had been quite a few of those times by now... But why had he kept calling her name in his sleep? She had not imagine that…

But the more important question was: what was wrong with that man, as rhetorical as the question may be? One second he comforted her in her pain, hugging her so tightly it convinced her that her death could truly afflict him, the next he pushed her away and reminded her how pointless she was in his life. She was seriously fed up with it, as obvious as the statement was. If she had gone completely insane, he was not too far from her.

"You should go back to your bed," he stated on the same tone. As the words were forced out of his mouth, his arm tightened its embrace on her, locking her even more securely against him. She tried to leave his side, only to see herself being pressed harder against him. At first she did not grasp the meaning of this strange behavior. She looked back up at him. His eyes were still cold, but deep down, she could detect a glimpse of softness. She pressed her head back on his torso, listening to his steady heartbeat. His heart rate was surprisingly slow, probably around fifty beats per minute. It soothed her mind, hypnotizing her as the sound of the ocean would. His fingers tangled in her hair and he fondled her head softly.

"You should go back to your bed, Emily," he whispered.

She reached for his free hand, pressed her palm against his. His fingers were so big compared to hers. She reflected on how fragile hers looked compared to his, how appearance could be so deceitful. Her fingers mixed with his and she squeezed them, their hands intertwined.

"Yes… I should…" she whispered back.

He fell back asleep within a few minutes. So did she…

* * *

_I just wanted to point out that what I was trying to do with the whole "dream" sequence was that he is scared of "loving" her. I know the whole thing makes it sound like he actually does love her at this point in the story, but that wasn't my intention. He does not. I guess it's kind of poorly written if I have to point this out, but I really wanted to clarify it._

_Well, at long last, they finally do it next chapter! (20 chapters later, lol!)_


	21. Chapter 21

_Thank you so much for the nice reviews, it really cheers me up and motivates me to continue! I've been putting a lot of time on this story and I have to say, I doubt myself every single time I submit a chapter and I get nervous people will hate it. I'm clearly not a writter and this isn't even my main language, so it's really nice to know some people enjoy what I write! Some of the reviews totally made my day, thanks! :D_

_Well, I'm not a 100% satisfied with this chapter, but I don't think I could ever be. Anyway, I hope you guys like it! Rated M for a good reason._

* * *

**Day 174**

Emily was walking in the corridor of the headquarters, Wesker by her side. On a normal day of work, once they reached the laboratory, they would both sit down and proceed to monitor the overnight progression of the virus over the different specimens they injected it into. They would both take notes and then discuss on a plan of actions for the rest of the day to achieve possible improvements.

Today, she had decided she had other plans for the course of the day. Today, she had decided she had enough. She had enough of obeying him, she had enough of helping him accomplish his despicable goals, she had enough of being abused and mistreated and she had enough of being comforted, fondled or touched to be rejected painfully a few hours later. In fact, a fragment of her sanity had returned to her overnight and she had a true revelation: "enough is enough".

After the drama of the previous night, this morning had been no different than the other times. At least he had not been cold nor cruel and the few words he had spoken came out rather soft, but he was undeniably uncomfortable in her presence.

Today, she would either break him or die trying as he beat her to death. Although, she was convinced the latter was impossible. So today was the day she would test her theory and prove it could reach fruition.

As she entered the laboratory, she sat herself at her usual spot, but refrained from doing anything other than staring at the wall stubbornly. He eyed her coldly as he sat himself next to her, unsure of her true intentions. After a long uncomfortable silence observing her mastering the craft of doing nothing he decided he was fed up with her behavior.

"Well Miss Reynolds, the whole world is waiting on you to enlighten us with your great wisdom," he stated mockingly, not particularly impressed by her little game.

Not a word came out of her mouth as she ignored him completely. He did not appreciate being treated so impudently.

"What game are you playing exactly?" he hissed between his teeth.

She finally deigned granting him her attention, turned her head and eyed him coldly.

"I won't work for you anymore. I've decided I did far enough!"

She fully acknowledged his anger was rising quickly, but she did not care; she was confident he would never hurt her. If it was truly conceivable for him to hit her, it would have already happened by now, especially with the diverse emotions she made him go through lately. She knew deep down she could unearth his true desire. If she applied herself to it, she was persuaded that in a couple of hours it would be game over for him and she will have won. Maybe he had not uncovered the truth yet or maybe he was still denying it obstinately, but he did care about her as much as she cared about him.

Today was the day she would win.

He placed a hand on the counter facing where she was sitting, and bent down, bringing his face only a few inches from hers, wearing his most threatening smile.

"You don't understand Miss Reynolds, this is _not_ a choice I am leaving you."

She stared back at the wall, the same cold look on her face.

"Miss Reynolds, don't test my patience, you know you're known to wear it thin very easily,"

"I'm not working anymore," she answered her determination unbending.

"WORK!" he yelled furious, the volume of his voice startling her, his mouth being too close to her ear.

"NO!" she yelled back, turning back to face him.

Furious, he shoved the microscope and the slides in front of her and roughly forced down her hands the pen and pad she would normally use. Defying him, she threw them on the floor violently. She heard the sound of the pad knocking the ground over his heavy raging breath. He was boiling; the nerve of that woman. How was it possible he had not killed her yet… Killed her, if only…

Infuriated, he stood up as he seized her wrist firmly. His hold was strong, commanding, but she found enough strength to yank her hand out of his tight grip. She stood up then proceeded to back away from him, employing all her courage to not break the stare. If she looked away, she would lose all of her confidence. He followed her, towering over her small frame. He removed his sunglasses, tossing them at the counter. His movements were swift, careful, calculated. His gaze had something truly demented to it, notably feral, as if she had transformed into his prey in which he was ready to assault. She suddenly felt terrified, some of her conviction escaping her. Maybe she had never really deciphered him correctly... Maybe he would hurt her, worse, maybe he would unleash his fury upon her. She realized she had never been truly prepared for that moment and the idea of his strong hands striking deadly blows on her small body was petrifying her. She carried on escaping his grasp, but eventually felt the wall on her back. He stopped himself a few inches from her, forcing himself to calm down.

"Miss Reynolds, you _will_ go sit on that chair and continue with your work," he ordered her, his voice slowly retrieving its usual cold note.

"No…" she whispered, her fears showing on her features.

"Obey me."

"No…"

She watched the anger hastily twisting his features. His fist flashed at the wall to her right and she heard the whistle his quick movement produced, felt the breeze generated by his swift movement brushing her cheek. She jumped at the sensation of the wall vibrating on her back, at the sound it produced as it cracked under his powerful blow. She closed her eyes, her body shaking uncontrollably. No, clearly she had never been fully prepared for that moment… She gathered the courage to open her eyes grateful to see he had slightly calmed down, the vein in his forehead_ almost_ faded. His hand raised and his finger ran down her cheek.

"Miss Reynolds, you do realize I could hurt you _severely_," he threatened her, composed and focused.

"You wouldn't do that…" she answered him, her voice shaking.

"No?" he asked his voice defying.

"No, you wouldn't do that."

"I assure you, Miss Reynolds, if you don't go back sit on that chair right now and start working, I will smash your skull through that wall and I won't even break a sweat."

"You wouldn't do that, you _couldn't _do that…"

"I could not? Really? And why is that?" he asked amused, smiling sarcastically at her ridiculous assumption.

"You can't hurt me. You lov…"

The second the word had escaped her mouth, his hand was covering it, as if by stopping the word from being fully pronounced meant she had never dared saying it.

"Enough with that!" he hissed in between his teeth.

He removed his hand from her mouth, trusting his threat had achieved the desired result, but she refused to stop. The more she poked at him, the more she was convinced she was right; after all, he had not hurt her yet... So it convinced her to keep poking at him until she finally managed to break him, to finally obtain what were rightfully hers: his affection, his lust… his love…

"I can feel it," she said softly, her breath almost panicked.

"Enough," he let out impatiently.

"I can see it in your eyes."

"Enough I said!" he ordered her again, louder than the first time.

"Try it, try to hurt me! You won't be able to."

"Shut up!" he hissed between his teeth, quickly losing his varnish.

"Hurt me, do it!" she yelled.

"SHUT UP!" he yelled back at her as he covered her mouth with his hand again and pressed his other arm against her neck, making it hard for her to breath.

She looked at him softly, determined to conceal from him how terrified she felt, determined to remain in control of the situation, determined to keep pushing her own agenda. Her hand reached for his cheek, caressed it softly. He grabbed it roughly and pinned it on the wall, releasing her throat from his painful grip. Resolved, she raised the other hand, tried to caress his face again, but he pinned that one on the wall as well. His grip was tight; it hurt. She felt the tears coming to her eyes.

He was furious, breathing heavily, looking at her with revulsion. Why did she refuse to obey him? Why was she so stubbornly defying him? He should be the one in control of the situation, he should be the one running the show. _She_ had the control this time and he loathed it. He loathed her. He loathed her because she was right, he loathed her because he was incapable of hurting her, he loathed her because he _did _want her, desperately… She struggled to get out of his grip, but he pressed his body against hers trapping her firmly. He was still panting heavily, the same raving look on his face. Yes, he loathed her. He loathed her and her ravishing brown eyes, her enticing plump lips, her adorable naïve look, her exquisite breast, her perfect arousing perfume… Her arousing perfume gently reaching his nostrils from the proximity of their bodies.

"Albert…" she whispered, breaking the silence, but the moment she closed her mouth, he covered it with his. He let go of her wrists and slid his hands on her back, pressing her roughly against his body, his fingers clasping her with raw desire. It surprised her at first, but she answered to his passion hastily, hugging him back. He was aggressive, unrestrained, his kisses hurt. He pushed his tongue in her mouth, almost shoving it down. She wanted to stop him, to ask him to soften up slightly, but she could not; she desired him as much as he desired her. Besides, there was no way she would stop him right now, not when she was so close to the goal, not when she had finally won her fight.

He was desperate, torn between raping her savagely or making love to her tenderly. It was burning within him, he wanted her hopelessly. He had always wanted her… She was soft with him, obedient, so he finally loosened up. Instead of roaming her body ferociously, his hands relaxed and caressed her back softly. His kisses settled to an obliged softness, his tongue massaged hers gently, but nevertheless burning with the same passion. He eventually broke the kiss to look at her. She looked back at him, biting her bottom lip, her eyes lit by a blazing desire.

"Albert…" she moaned, cupping his face and caressing his cheek softly with her delicate fingers.

He took hold of her wrist. His lips brushed the palm of her hand, gently tickling it with soft kisses while never breaking his stare on her. His gaze was so intense; she closed her eyes almost intimidated. She was breathing so heavily, her heartbeat so frantic it was drumming in her ears. She heard him shift slightly then his lips were on her neck, nibbling at the skin aching for his affection, leaving a warm trail of kisses on it. She gasped at the sensation and ran her fingers through the perfectly still hair, messing with them.

Yes, the battle was over and he had lost.

Her hands found the first button of his shirt, started undoing it frenziedly. She wanted the comforting sensation of his skin on hers, to prove to herself she was not dreaming, that this was finally happening for real. It convinced him to move further; his hands slid under her lab coat, under her shirt and caressed the blazing flesh of her back, of her sides. She moaned ardently at the delightful sensation of his caresses. One touch and she was completely sold: she burned for his release. She did not have to say anything, he knew she wanted him right now; there was no waiting needed, no foreplay required. There was only a vital need to feel him deep inside of her, to be taken by him in every respect. His hands firmly gripped her buttocks and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around him and pressed her lips against his. He blindly directed them to the laboratory counter and sat her on it, their tongue still dancing in each other's mouth. He broke the kiss and his lips found the hollow of her neck once again, taking great pleasure in the task, while his hands discovered every nook and cranny of her body almost for the first time. He listened carefully to every gasp, moan and yelp she produced, those sounds he had craved to hear for several months now.

Once she was done unbuttoning his shirt, she pushed it to the floor. Her hands roamed over his toned torso, enjoying the sensation of the hard muscles. Impatient to bring it to the next level, he unzipped her skirt quickly and shoved it down roughly while his tongue was desperate to seek hers once more. He did the same with her laboratory coat and her shirt. Once she was sitting on the counter only in her undergarments, he broke the kiss.

He stared at her intensely, then the corner of his mouth formed a half-smile. She took it as an approval, as if he enjoyed the picture in front of his eyes. She could not help it, she blushed. Not that she had anything to be ashamed of; she had seen the looks other men had given her, she knew she was an attractive woman. Maybe not quite model material, but she still had no difficulty getting them to grovel at her feet if need be. Not that she would have ever taken advantage of it; she was too shy for that, too introverted, too sweet and had too little confidence. Only a handful of men had ended her in her bed and she appreciated her life just like that. But meeting his approval was indeed flattering and had proven to be more important than she would have wished to admit.

One arm gathered her and pulled her closer to him as he resumed his feverish kissing of her neck and her earlobe. God, he enjoyed the taste of her skin as much as he adored its smell.

Then her thoughts overpowered her instincts and she realized this could be just another one of those moments where he slipped through her fingers. She suddenly got tempted to rush things, just in case he changed his mind like he had already done so several times in the past. She was terrified by it, terrified she would have to deal with the rejection it implied once more. So her hands moved quicker and she stopped enjoying the sensation of his lips on her skin, of his gentle touch discovering her body which would have normally sent shivers down her spine. When all she wanted was to take all the necessary steps to savor this moment to its full extent, she rushed through it. She found his belt buckle and started untying it. But he would not abide, he wanted to elevate this moment to what it genuinely should be. He had longed for this extensively. Nothing will stop him from properly enjoying this as he had envisioned it, to finally release himself of the weight of his obsession towards her.

His head moved excruciatingly slowly down, kissing every stretch of skin falling under his lips. Her chest was rising up and down in excitement. As if to convince him to move quicker, she continued unbuckling his belt frantically, her movements imprecise and clumsy. She felt his grin against her skin, groaned her disapproval. He liked to make her suffer, to convince her there could only be one dominant and one dominated, and those roles could never be reversed. His lips finally reached one hardened nipple. He nuzzled and nibbled at it through the fabric while his other hand was occupied unfastened her bra. She tossed her head, moaning softly, her lips fully parted, and worked harder to rid him of his pants, the stupid belt buckle clearly not cooperating.

Undergarments were yanked roughly, boxers pulled down urgently and at long last, they were both naked, still tangled in their desperate embrace. Captivated, he gave her another appreciate look, enjoying the view even more than the first time. When she saw him completely naked in front of her, his member hardened by the excitement, looking down at her with hungry eyes, she finally relaxed and realized nobody will crush her beautiful dream, not even him.

His hands cupped her breasts, brushed the tips with his thumbs. It caused her to moan increasingly, to search for his hardened member, to stroke it slowly. He grunted savagely, his breath tickling the bottom of her throat as she pulled him into another passionate kiss. He finally decided enough time had been lost and shoved her hand off of him roughly, pulling her closer to the end of the counter with the other arm. Holding himself, he nudged at her entrance, suddenly feeling her tensing in expectation. She had not been taken by a man in over six months now, not since she had been brought in this forsaken hell. _His_ forsaken hell. Carefully, he entered her, inch by inch. She gasped loudly, more out of discomfort than actual pleasure, and her eyes shut down tightly. At first, he was thrusting painfully slowly, to let her adjust to his size and to accustom to the pleasure again. After a moment, he saw her face relax, her eyes open and she gave him a pure look of satisfaction, of complete fulfillment. He accelerated the pace gradually, thrusting himself a little more deeply each time. One of his hand was leaned against the counter while to other was pressing her body against his. Her moans reached his ears, intensifying with every thrust he administered with agility being truly concerned to please her entirely. She grabbed into him firmly, wanting to bring him even closer, and started grinding her hips against his, meeting his every move.

The only sounds in the room were the ones from their fucking, from their moans, from their pants, from their voice calling one another in desperation. She followed his movement graceful and appreciative, gladly taking anything he had to offer: his hand fondling one of her breast, his mouth nibbling at the soft skin of her neck, his lips kissing the tender flesh of her earlobe, his tongue massaging hers roughly, his eyes gazing upon her with burning lust… Every so often his fingers would tangle in her hair, every so often he would press his cheek on hers sweaty, every so often he would break the kiss to look into her eyes intensely, every so often he would lean his forehead against hers, making this moment all the more intimate.

She listened to his low silky voice so musical to her ears, so sexy. She did not want to think whether this was wrong or not, whether she would get hurt or not. She did not want to think of tomorrow, she just wanted this, right here, right now.

He thought of the last time he had fucked a woman; his eyes had been a deep blue. His eyes, amongst many other things, had always gotten him all the women he desired. Now they were deformed, strange and scary. They had their uses of course, but they surely had more inconvenience than qualities. It had to be one of the only negative effects of the virus. He wished she did not have to stare at those, he wished she would have had the chance to stare at the deep blue eyes. He wished _he_ could have had the chance to stare at her with his real eyes… He had pondered over the idea of having sex since the injection; how a woman would react to the strange sight… But she had never known the deep blue eyes, all she had ever known were those monstrosities and she did not seem to be phased by it one bit. She lost herself in them just as much as if they were deep blue. In fact, she seemed to enjoy them even more, as if they were making him unique, as if they were defining him for her, a true part of his identity. They made him who he really was: a dangerous man she had fatally fell for, that she desperately hoped she had touched, she had changed to make him a better man…

Then he thought of the repercussion of this, of the obvious expectations that she will have tomorrow. He just wanted to rid himself of his obsession towards her, of his desperate need to possess her entirely, even her body. Tomorrow it will all be over, tomorrow he will stop thinking about her all the time, tomorrow he will have scratched that itch. The forbidden fruit will be consumed and the obsession will die once he came inside of her. Tomorrow he will be able to mistreat her again, tomorrow he will ignore her again, tomorrow he will pretend nothing had happened, tomorrow everything will go back to normal…

Because he had never truly cared for her, he never truly had affection for her, it had always been part of the obsession, part of the need to fuck her, fuck her brains out until she screamed his name hopelessly... Right?

Tomorrow it will all be over. But that was tomorrow; right now was all that mattered. Right now all that mattered were her needy gasps, her eyes half-closed from not being able to support his ministration, her adorable yelps of pleasure, her big brown eyes dug deeply into his. Right now she was all that mattered. God, how many times had he envisioned that moment, had he fantasized about it? The dream did not quite measure up to reality; this was just exquisite.

After a while, he lifted her up, her legs wrapped around his hips. He turned around and carried her in his arms, all the while still thrusting inside of her. He changed position because he hoped to possess her more, he wished to intensify the dependency of the endearment with her whole weight secured in his strong arms. He pushed her against the lockers behind them and her head bumped against one of them, her hair a complete mess from going up and down, but she could care less, all she wanted at this very moment was to feel him going deeply inside of her. He was grateful not a word came out of her mouth, not a question was asked; there was nothing to be said, just two people longing for each other's release. She positioned herself slightly above him with her arms closed around his neck and her eyes still fixing him, her breaths irregular and heavy as he applied himself to make this moment memorable. She looked at him with such a desperation he felt himself troubled by her stare. Her eyes showed affection, lust, hatred, anguish, fulfillment and sadness all at once. And something else, something trapped inside of her, as if she worked tirelessly to hold it back.

She was feeling the butterflies in her stomach. She feared letting the words escape her mouth, she dreaded giving him the satisfaction of knowing he now possessed her entirely, body and mind, but she had to express it, she _had_ to, before it consumed her entirely.

"I love you," she finally pushed the words out in between pants.

He did not answer, because he could not, because he did not love her… He simply looked at her softly, still concentrated on his task, then pulled her mouth to his, his tongue seeking hers passionately.

She had never expected him to answer her words; she could not possibly be so naïve. There would be other times to be disappointed, there would be other times to seek an answer. This moment was too perfect to be ruined.

She eventually broke the kiss and settled her head on his shoulder, feeling her peak coming quickly. The orgasm came strongly, tearing through her entire body, causing her to shudder in his arms. She wanted to moan loudly, but restrained herself to not alert anyone.

He listened to her whisper his names several times, felt her warm gasps on his neck, felt her nails scratching his back hopelessly, felt her walls closing tightly around him. It convinced him, so he trusted urgently and released himself inside of her, calling her name softly, pressing her securely against him, his eyes tightly shut. The orgasm was agonizing, releasing, filling and dangerously satisfying.

When it was over, one of his arms was still holding her up while he caressed her cheek tenderly with his other hand. Their lips touched, only brushed one another.


	22. Chapter 22

_I know I'm repeating myself, but, thank you so much for the nice reviews! It's really awesome to have people enjoy what you write. I have been spending a lot of my free time on this (and my lunch breaks! Yes, I write an erotic fanfic on my lunch break, wtf...?) so it's really rewarding to feel I'm not only writing that for myself!_

_I also wanted to warn people that Wesker will be out-of-character in this story (and has already been several times in the last 21 chapters). This is a sappy "love-story" fanfic with lemon afterall, so it would be impossible to not have the character be out-of-character. I mean, Albert Wesker as created by Capcom is an unidimensional villain. Personally, I really "fell in love" with the character 13 years ago in the very first game and loved him the most in Code Veronica. I'm not really a fan of his personality in Umbrella Chronicles nor RE5; he's too cliché, too one-dimension. When I started writing this story 5 years ago, UC had just come out and I hadn't played it yet. Personally, I always envisioned Wesker as a total douchebag hungry for power and money. (I got a thing for douchebags... ;_;) In RE5 he's just some typical villain obsessed with world domination. With that kind of persona, it's impossible to give the character emotions other than anger or loathing... I believe nobody is only evil, nor only good, only black or only white, we are all grey. We all have qualities, we all have faults. So I believe Wesker can have a vast array of feelings like any other human being. Obviously, I'm not saying he's gonna become fluffy and buy her flowers... I just mean he "could" be able to love somebody else. Any half-sane human being can love... Now, love is obviously something complex and there are many ways to love (some people don't love "properly" per se). Anyway, I wanted to make that clear..._

_So this chapter is purely to establish the evolution of their relationship, it's not super important to the story itself, but I still felt it was necessary. Rated M for a good reason. _

* * *

**Day 176**

Emily was lying on the bed on her back, her hair a complete mess, her whole body covered with sweat. One hand was tightly clenching the bed's headboard, the other hand messing with Albert's hair. She felt the rush of pleasure coming to its peak for the third time in the last hour. Her legs were wildly spread cradling his head as he was skillfully massaging her sensitive bud with his tongue. He had been at it for almost an hour now determined to stay there for as long as he pleased. He had undoubtedly mastered this art; her first climax reached within a minute. After the first time, she had been pleasantly surprised to see him stay in position and exert himself to lead her to another orgasm. At the time, he had slowed down tremendously, giving her the proper time to recover from her climax, the sensation more painful than pleasurable at first, but he expertly worked her back into ecstasy, the pain completely forgotten and the pleasure moaned noisily.

She watched his head nodding slowly, felt his tongue swirling deftly around the swollen and delicate organ, and noticed his eyes almost obsessively fixated on her. He should have definitely stopped and granted her time to recuperate, but he just could not help it. There was something about the way she moaned, the way she called his name desperately; it was highly addictive and drove him absolutely crazy. No, he _had_ to keep going so he could feed on this enchanting music once more.

It was not solely the moans but the look of absolute pleasure on her face as well. The way her lips would fully part as a longing and plaintive sigh of ecstasy escaped her mouth. The way her tongue would seductively lick her upper lip in absolute bliss. The way her hand would tug so firmly at his hair that he thought she would rip a handful out. It was such an exquisite view; he just could not get enough of it. She had always looked so naïve, so pure and innocent, but it was obviously quite the opposite; she was skilled, mature and experienced. But the illusion still remained and that was exactly what made her so alluring. Twice she had tried to cover her face out of sheer embarrassment, troubled by the intense look he was giving her, but he had reached up and yanked her arms roughly. After all the efforts he was making to drive her to the top, who was she to deny him his tasty enjoyment.

As he worked tirelessly to bring her to the highest summit, he would fondle her breasts with either one or both hands, but sometimes he had to reposition his tongue and required the use of his hands for the task, leaving her bust abandoned for a few seconds. Every time, she had groaned her disagreement, up until, too tantalized by the pleasure, she had decided to take care of the task by herself and had enticingly brought one of her hand to her breast, caressing her nipple softly. Unable to talk at the moment, he had abruptly jerked her hand away and had resumed handling the task himself. No, this was _his_ show, _his_ performance…

A couple of times, she had even seized his hand and had sensually brought one of his fingers to her mouth, biting and sucking on it desperately, while moaning loudly with her lips closed around it, up until she could not take it anymore and her mouth had wide opened to expulse a cry of pure exaltation. The sight had been so delectable, his own member was throbbing in pain to be released. The entirety of his willpower was employed in keeping him from either penetrating her violently right now or simply taking care of himself in a matter of a few seconds, releasing himself on her belly.

But the best of times were definitely when she climaxed, a pure delight to his eyes. The whole dance would start by her tossing her head on each side every few seconds voicing her disapproval until she relinquished and screamed his name relentlessly over and over and over. No, the spectacle was too satisfying to be brought to an end just yet, he _had_ to carry on. He _had_ to keep admiring such a lovely wonder.

Never had he expected to spend the last two days fornicating at any imaginable occasion. He had truly believed that once she would have been consumed, he would have been done with this ridiculous nonsense. How wrong had he been… Unfortunately, the obsession refused to fade. In fact, it had only grown in intensity. Now that he had tasted her, he wanted more… Always wanted more…

The last couple of days had been so intense. She had barely any time to rest; he was ploughing her day and night. Her head was spinning from all this sex, her private parts tired, overused and throbbing in pain. Two days ago, once their little venture had been over in the laboratory, he had proposed to return to his quarters. She had been perplexed at what to expect of the proposition, fearing her life might actually be in danger now that he had consumed her and the excitement had died down. Little had she known, the moment the door was closed, his hands were all over her body ready for another round of passionate love-making. The table had been his momentary site of predilection for the second act. Immediately after, she had requested a shower to clean off some of the sweat, only to be surprised by him as she was soaping herself. Then came the bed. And later, to finish off the day, the cherry on top her sundae, they did it on his unbearable leather chair. She had been more than disposed to deflower his God damn throne, taking it as a victory over his ever-so-present domination over her. The next day had been no cakewalk either. In two days, not a single piece of furniture had not been baptized passionately. She had more sex in forty-eight hours than she did in the last year... And they would do it in every imaginable way she had ever done it, and more: laying, standing, sitting, straddling, on top, under, from behind and a few other unexplainable positions. One can let their imagination run wild. She felt like a test subject experimenting all the different positions of the Kama Sutra.

She had pleaded him for time to recover from his robust attention, but he would never abide. She was so exhausted, she might have fallen into a lethargic sleep for fourteen hours every night. Unfortunately, somebody had ensured this possibility could never come to fruition, somebody had other plans for her… It had been made obvious he was determined to compensate for years of a severe lack of sex.

It clearly mattered little to him whether she was up for the task or not, but she could care less, she welcomed the sudden affection gratefully every time. She liked the way he imposed himself on her; it made her feel desired, it made her feel alive. Every single orgasm felt just as blissful as if she had deprived herself of any sexual activities for decades.

He would dominate her with impunity, manipulating her as if she had been as light as a feather. There was no agreement implied, no opinion asked. He took her whenever he pleased, any way he pleased and she _had_ to be willing to do it. It had crossed her mind a couple of times what would have happened if she had voiced her refusal. She feared letting her mind wander in that direction, so she had pushed the idea in the back of her mind. But there was definitely something reassuring in the way he would take her, both their bodies drenched in sweat after their long hours of sex, his arms possessively owning her. It made her feel lit by a blazing inner fire. It made her feel like his possession, like his prey tangled in his ardent fury. She still could not determine whether or not it contented her, but one sure thing was that it aroused her immensely.

His stamina was incredible; she had never have sex with somebody in such amazing shape, in such control of himself. He could pretty much last as long or as brief as he pleased, almost coming on command. He would often release himself in unison with her own climax, contributing to the astonishing feeling of completion the act would provide her with. She figured this was partly the result of the virus he had injected himself with. Maybe this abomination did not only have negative uses…

This morning she had been brutally awaken by the sensation of his lips nibbling at her nipples and once he had ensured she was fully awaken, his tongue had eagerly explored between her legs. It was the first time he had pleased her with his mouth and she wished he had done it before; he was so incredible at it. She had pleaded him to let her please him too, with her mouth, her hand, anything he wanted, but he refused categorically every time, forcing her to comply with his unilateral devotion.

A hostage in his own mind, he had been desperate to forget his own painful demise by giving in to his sexual desires. Every swirl of his tongue, every thrust of his full length helped him temporarily forget the metaphorical grip she held over his mind. The frenzied passion provided him with the illusion he could still manipulate her to his needs, mould her to become what he pleased and yearned for, control her for his own purposes. The purpose of possessing her body in a way only he could achieve. His mind completely eradicated the notion she was actually enjoying herself immensely and focused purely on the fact she was yielding to his godly ministrations, to his obvious superiority. As she writhed underneath him, he would convince himself she was still his slave, his prisoner. Perhaps not the same kind of prisoner he had originally intended, but his own prisoner nonetheless. As she yelped and moaned under his agile touch, he would prove to himself he could still exploit her to his mercy, he could still abuse of her dignity hungrily. He could thus confirm his undeniable domination over her.

There she was, ready to release herself for the third time, his tongue massaging her the perfect speed, the perfect pressure, as if he was pre-programmed to know how to make her reach her peak. She surrendered and screamed her intoxicating euphoria, shuddering violently, the previous two orgasms a pale comparison to this mesmerizing third one, as if this was even possible.

As she called his name hopelessly several times, he reflected on the last time he had heard his first name being pronounced so many times. He had to have been at the very least twenty years younger, and his name had not been voiced in such obvious delight. Every so often, she would punctuate calling his name with a warm-hearted "God". He _loved_ the sound of that. He thought arrogantly that those two words pronounced next to one another truly belonged together.

As soon as it was over, she pleaded him to stop, so exhausted she thought she would pass out. He raised his head slightly to meet her demanding gaze.

"Please, Albert, stop… you're killing me…"

Oh God that he loved to hear her beg... She had done it a few times already in the last couple days, but he felt a certain uneasiness to directly ask her to do it just yet. It might have been a bit too early for that kind of requests. Manipulation being his strongest suit, he chuckled, ensuring she would plead him once more.

He was so arrogant sometimes… Although he undeniably had all the reasons to be, she hated his unfathomable pretentiousness... Or maybe a minute part of her relished it... Maybe a part of her craved nothing else than being owned by the tyrant, maybe it made the sexual act all the more exciting. Surely she could not think straight anymore at the moment...

"No. I'm enjoying myself too much," he purred.

"Please… It's just hurting… I need a break!"

She was panting so heavily, having trouble pushing the words out of her mouth.

"That's what you said the last time and you screamed even louder this time!" he smiled maliciously.

"I mean it this time…"

"Mmhmm"

"Please…"

"I'm sorry, Emily, but I can't stop," he apologized contemptuously. "Like I said, I'm enjoying myself too much," he added chuckling seductively.

He dipped his tongue back into her wet sex carefully, only brushing the tender surface with the tip. She winced at the sensation, even under his meticulous touch. Her overexerted muscles refusing to cooperate, only pain was searing through her body, the pleasure escaping her grasp as she had been greedily rewarded three times already. Her face expressed discomfort, her moans ones of torture. She tried to escape him but he pinned her to the bed with both hands and forced her to stay locked in his embrace. His tongue worked his way even more carefully, even more softly, the tip brushing her so lightly he could barely feel it. For a few minutes she would only squirm, the sole sound in the room the one of her slow uncomfortable breath. Then eventually he heard her first timid genuine yelp; it was subtle, but it was of pleasure nevertheless. It convinced him to persevere and within a few minutes, admitting defeat, she resumed her enthusiastic cries of pleasure, her vibrant calling of his name and of the holy Lord, her hand back in his hair pulling it harshly.

Suddenly, he decided his turn had been plenty deserved and stopped his vigorous treatment abruptly, in the meantime allowing her the rest entitled to her. She almost looked upset with his decision, as she had clearly walked her way back into heaven. On his knees, he turned her around and propped her up on her hands and knees. She had no energy left to fight him and granted him the right to manipulate her shamelessly. He parted her legs with his and, inch by inch, grunting his pleasure satisfactorily, he penetrated her, enjoying the gasp of release she produced as he owned her body.

Just like the first time, the sensation was incredible and satisfying, making her feel a little more complete with his full length inside of her. He thrust slowly, trying to spare her after her exhausting hour of delectation. Eventually, his body joined hers; he pressed his torso against her back, wrapped on arm around her stomach and pressed his cheek against hers. She gasped faintly, more out of contentment and feeling of completeness than actual pleasure, her whole body wearied by his insatiable care of the last few days. His breath came warm on her cheek and added to the sensation of plenitude, of intimacy. She reached down and squeezed the hand holding her possessively. This was not about her carnal needs anymore, but about the feeling of closeness it provided her with. It was about reaching out for him.

She heard him call her name softly. She could not help it; she closed her eyes and enjoyed the sound of his deep voice in her ear, the sound of his lust and desire for her. He came quickly, impatient to satiate his needs, grunting his satisfaction. She listened to his moans die down, to his breath return to a normal pace, then crashed on her back, her entire body sore. She stared intensely at him as he was still positioned on his knees, his body covered in sweat.

"I love you…" she whispered, caressing his cheek with her fingers.

His body joined hers, his lips seeking the nook of her neck, nibbling and kissing the tender flesh. As she ran her fingers through his hair, she questioned whether he was avoiding her gaze to refrain from having to acknowledge the words that had escaped her mouth. He would never say a word, he would never open up. She realized she was desperate to hear him answer her, to hear those most favored forbidden words. Heck, anything, she was desperate to hear him say anything remotely affectionate to her other than calling her name out during their intercourse.

Then the notion crossed her mind for the first time in forty-eight hours: how long will she be able to satisfy her needs without the evidence her feelings were reciprocated? How long until the mind-blowing sex stopped filling the gap in her heart?


	23. Chapter 23

**Day 198**

Everything was peachy-keen at casa di Wesker or so Emily was trying to convince herself. Their relationship, or rather lack of, had taken an interesting twist. The excessive amount of sex of the first few days of their erotic escapade had settled to once or twice daily. They shared an apartment, they shared a meal, they shared a bed, they shared intimacy and they shared a night. In the last three weeks, they had settled into their own strange routine. On the surface, they almost looked like a normal couple. On the surface… Deep down, the unusual arrangement lacked all the hallmarks of a real relationship. In reality, the only things he shared with her were all superficial. His work, his food, his furniture, his living quarters, his body… but never his mind, never his heart. As the days followed one another and all upsettingly felt more of the same, she realized she hardly knew anything of him. To her, he could be boiled down to those four characteristics: cold, cruel, unapproachable and amazing in the sack. Those were the only traits she had uncovered about the mysterious and secretive man. As her passage into his egocentric existence progressed, she recognized the fact that she had very few reasons to be so infatuated with him. Yes, she _did_ realize it. But apparently her heart refused to cooperate with her mind and she only felt more attached to him as time passed. Every instance of passionate lovemaking, if one could seriously call it _love_making, every night spent in his arms only fed into her descent into his tempting snare, her descent into hell. She spent every night curled up in his arms in the bed they now shared as he no longer had any reason to continue sleeping on the uncomfortable floor. It had quickly become her favorite part of the day as it was the only opportunity she had to hug him, to snuggle him, to feel important to him… Sometimes she would stay awake just to admire him for hours. He would never let her otherwise… He did not look quite as tense when he was sleeping, nor as cold. He almost looked… normal. She clung onto any potentially satisfying occasion the relationship provided her with, any parcel of affection he would deign tossing her way.

There she was right now, cutting vegetables for dinner, preparing his meal as his _beloved wife_. She sneered at the ridiculous idea. His wife… Not in a million years.

He was still always the one triggering the sexual encounters, giving himself the license to take her as he pleased as if she had been entitled to him. Anywhere and any imaginable position was still part of the menu du jour. But he had clearly taken hold of himself and now shared his time between his sexual hunger and his ascent to world domination. She figured the excitement of the first days had died down and she was now part of his daily routine. Every time was the best time of her life… Every time would hurt tremendously… She spent countless hours cogitating over the fact she loved him, but those feelings were clearly not reciprocated. If he did love her, he sure as hell never showed it… All she appeared to be to him was a way to satisfy his instincts.

Sometimes he was soft, so soft… Other times he was rough, but he never hurt her. He would never hurt her, right? She had no clue anymore… Maybe she was just a toy to him. She had always been a toy to him, why would it have changed now that sex was part of the equation? Why did she fill her head with foolishnesses such as the notion that he genuinely cared for her... Clearly, all he wanted was a recipient for all his lust... She felt distressed. She felt wounded by his indifference, his mistreatment, his heedlessness… If she had one ounce of self-respect, she would hate him. But she could not. Or maybe she did… Or maybe... Oh, God... She just wanted to cry…

No, she had spent numerous hours crying in the past and it had achieved strictly nothing…

Absorbed in her own world, she did not notice his presence behind her, up until his body was pressed roughly against her back, his hands roaming her body selfishly, the bulge in his pants poking against her lower back.

"Albert, please, not now," she pleaded. The tears had formed in the corners of her eyes and his exerting ploughing was the last thing on her mind at the moment.

Her plea had evidently no effect on his libido as he grabbed the knife currently in her hand and tossed it carelessly on the table before resuming his forceful caresses.

"Yes, right now," he purred not allowing any refusal of his indelicate devotion.

"Albert... stop!" she ordered, her voice breaking from the emotions still lingering on her mind.

"Shut up!" he growled.

Confusion took over her as she felt the rough sensation of his hands sliding under her shirt to firmly clasp the tender skin. She wondered if she should be panicked or aroused. Maybe she was a little bit of both... His hands moved up to claim every parcel of her skin as his. His touch was painful and pleasant simultaneously. She was terrified he might hurt her, she was terrified he would not care if he did, she was terrified he would not stop if he did...

"You like it, don't you?" he stated, clearly allured by the situation.

"No, I don't… You're being too rough with me, Albert," she whimpered.

"Liar!" he chuckled proudly.

His hands pursued his unpleasant entitlement of her body. Suddenly, she watched them exit her shirt, grab onto the front and rip the material swiftly as if it had been as flimsy as wrapping paper. She shrieked at the sound it produced, feeling vulnerable from being undressed in such an uncivilized manner. Her chest fully exposed, he took it upon him to possessively leave his brand all over it as his mouth found her earlobe and nibbled at it with the same unrestrained aggressiveness as his hands. Panic stormed through her as she struggled to escape his grip applying all of her meager strength into it. Her attempt was undoubtedly useless as he forced her back firmly against him.

"You _will_ be a good girl and obey me," he purred seductively.

"Albert, please…" she whimpered. She was fully convinced of it now: she will get hurt.

"Because you're mine, all mine!"

"Albert…"

"And once you're mine, you do as I say. Always as I say."

"Please, Albert… You're scaring me," she pleaded him desperately.

His feral urges were fueled by every move she hopelessly performed to try to escape his grip, every twitch her body produced as she struggled to free herself from his possessive hold. He was dominating her mercilessly and he could not have been more aroused at this very moment. He adored her feeble attempts to push him away, the battle she uselessly fought to keep his hands from owning every fiber of her body. She could not possibly think she would succeed in denying him his tasty pleasure.

Never did he acknowledge the fact that he was brutally violating her dignity. Never did he notice how she was frozen by fear. Never did he realize that she was terrified to get hurt. Never did he understand that the last thing on earth she wanted at this moment was to feel him inside of her. He was in a trance powered by his insatiable need to remain in control, powered by his deranged desires to dominate her constantly.

"God, you're so sexy, Emily," he whispered in her ear, before chuckling.

_Sexy_.

She closed her eyes at the pleasant statement. She _was_ sexy to him. In an instant, all traces of panic were eradicated from her mind and replaced by contentment. She wanted to hear the word again. She wanted the affection, the indirect compliment. She longed to reach out for him, she craved to know she actually meant something to him, she required to feel special, she yearned to stop feeling like an inanimate object he shamelessly used for his own purposes. Unique, she wanted to feel unique to him... She was so desperate for his love, it was slowly destructing her.

Oh yes, now he had her...

"Really, you find me sexy?"

"Oh yeah, you're the prettiest thing I've ever screwed," he purred.

It was certainly crude, but in her current frame of mind she was able to sift through the crassness and find the subtle flattery within. To her, it was affection… Under normal circumstances, she would have found him vulgar and womanizing, but right now she was so hopeless for any form of attention than she clutched onto anything remotely kind that came out of his mouth. She was so engrossed by her desperate desires to please him, to receive some kind of affection from him, _any_ kind of affection, that she never realized how pathetic she actually sounded.

"When you moan... Nothing in this world could possibly arouse me more," he let out enticingly, his lips brushing her ear. The second the words were out of his mouth, his tongue ran over her earlobe and his teeth nibbled at the tender flesh.

The sound of his seductive voice, of his enticing words travelled through her entire body as every strained muscle relaxed. The goose bumps that covered her skin dissipated and the feeling of his possessive caresses began leaving shivers of anticipation.

"And your soft skin is near perfection. I can't stop touching it, caressing it."

Her hands stiffened against the table from her body finally demanding his inconsiderate _favors_. Her breathing slowly accelerated from her mind drinking every word he let slip through the cracks. Her moans intensified with every seductive statement proclaiming his lust towards her. Apart from the usual grunts and moans he produced during their intercourse, he was generally pretty frugal with words, miser of any warm comments towards her; she welcomed the sudden change of tune appreciatively.

His hands moved up, cupped her breasts and squeezed them gently.

"And those..."

Her lips fully parted and she yelped helplessly, tossing her head and leaning it against his torso.

"Yeah, that's it," he purred, then bit tenderly the soft skin of her neck.

Having no intention of losing any more time, he ripped the rest of her clothes the same way he had ripped her shirt a few minutes ago. His movements were brusque, unrestrained. She was amputated of her underwear in an uncouth manner, the rupture of the material leaving painful marks on her thighs, but at that point, the pain was long forgotten. His fingers moved down, brushed her groin to tantalize her cruelly but never moved further. He yearned for her desperate gasps of anticipation. There was no denying it, she was now feeling the ache between her legs; she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

Then she heard the sound of his zipper and of fabric shifting. As he was about to enter her, she felt the rough material of his clothing against the skin of her back. No, she wanted him naked just like she was. She craved the sensation of his skin on hers… She burned for the feeling of his body against hers... It gave her the illusion she was more than his sex slave, more than a cheap whore.

"No, not now, Albert. Remove your clothes, please," she supplicated, turning her head in hope to meet his gaze.

"What did I just say? You obey me!" he hissed between his teeth, his fully hardened member poking against her butt cheeks as he pressed her tightly against him and crouched down slightly ready to make her his own.

"Please, Albert…" she pleaded desperately.

He hesitated a moment, enjoying her pleading. He could not resist hearing her beg, he could not resist her… He could not hurt her, could not resist her… He could not…

"Please…"

He stepped back and started tearing his own clothes with his inhuman speed, then retrieved the enticing embrace, barely giving her the time to notice he had left her side. His warm chest pushed against her back, she grabbed into his ass. She was so desperate for the feeling of completeness only he could provide her with that it almost hurt.

He watched her stiffen in expectation, aching to feel him deep inside of her. He ended her misery; he pressed his legs forcefully against hers, squatted a bit to meet her and thrust deeply inside of her in one swift movement. She staggered slightly, propelled to the tips of her toes, her hands collapsing on the table, and propped herself up with the palms of her hands to meet him. She then tossed her head violently against his pectorals, expulsing a gasp of pure satisfaction convincing him he had enraptured her entirely once more. He thrust deeply and urgently, his unrestrained display from a few minutes ago had left him throbbing for a release. His chin settled in the hollow of her neck, his cheek pressed against hers. She reached behind her, enfolded his head with her arm and mixed her fingers with his hair.

His hand encircled her neck and pressed her against him. The embrace was demeaning, territorial and frightening in a way. If he applied the proper pressure, with his inhuman strength, he could kill her instantly. There was something terrifying about it, but also amazingly alluring. She felt so possessed; she felt a closeness to him she had never reached before. She felt owned in a way no other man as ever owned her. It made her completely lose it. Every time he took her, she fell deeper into his twisted ravel. His warm breath on her cheek, his lips avidly nibbling her earlobe, his hands roaming her body with burning lust, his low and deep grunts in her ear. She focused on every single small detail that made this moment unforgettable. She noticed every one of his muscle tensing and slaving as he busied himself to prove his undeniable dominance: his toned torso pressed against her back, his muscular thighs pushed against the back of her legs, his massive arms enveloping her body, his strong hands groping at her blazing skin, his athletic ass inside her hand as she was clenching greedily at one of the cheeks. The muscles tensed with every possessive stroke he administered. Her hand squeezed the flesh every time one of his thrust hit with agility that spot that drove her completely crazy. She felt in a trance, losing entirely the notion of her surroundings. She drifted into another world and concentrated strictly on the wonderful impression of plenitude it bestowed upon her. She lost all sense of directions, all sense of self-respect, all sense of willpower, all sense of good judgment... His voice came distant in her ears, breaking her bewitchment.

"...ine. You're all mine."

She could only agree with those words; it would be totally pointless to argue. She nodded enthusiastically.

"All mine."

She abdicated a second time as he reiterated it.

"You're all mine. Your body, your mind..."

"Yes..."

"Your heart..."

"Yes..."

"All mine."

"Yes..."

She hesitated a moment, because the concept of displaying her feelings shamelessly without a probability of a response being voiced left her wounded every time now. But she could not possibly help it; she felt so enamored, she longed to express it all the time.

"I love you..." she whispered.

"Yeah?"

She nodded weakly.

"Say it again for me," he demanded aroused.

The idea of feeding his twisted ego, his perverted needs with her own sore feelings distressed her. Those were the consequences of months of confusion, of mistreatment and of solitude. They consumed her inside. They burned every segment of her being. They clashed with her principles and values. They caused her weeks of self-loathing, of reflection on the person she might have become through his masterful manipulation. They should never be taken lightly. They should never be ridiculed. They should never be used as some amusement to nourish his sense of self-importance, his need to control everything and everybody that had the misfortune of being part of his existence…

But her feelings also fogged her own brittle rationality, her own fragile sense of self-protection. If she did love him, why should she be ashamed of expressing it? Why should she fear sharing these three meaningful words that tore her apart sometimes but also filled her with euphoria most of the time?

She hesitated a moment, then finally abided.

"I love you..." she let out timidly, louder than the first time.

He pumped quicker, slightly losing control of himself. He adored hearing those forbidden words come out of her mouth. Every single time it stroked a chord for him. He wished she would express it more often, but he felt a certain shyness on her part, a vulnerability. It took her courage to express it every time and it made it all the more exciting to hear. He loved her dependency, he loved her addiction, he loved her intoxication towards him. It provided him with an indescribable feeling of supremacy, of fierceness.

But the feelings it generated inside of him were also terrifying him immensely. The slope was very slippery and if he did not take control of himself soon, he _will _be falling down. Everyday, the grip she held over him tightened, everyday it became harder to breath. Everyday he suffocated and feared soon enough no air will be able to reach his lungs anymore. There was no longer any point in pretending it was not happening; everyday he felt more enamored than the day before. Everyday the obsession prevailed and consumed him inside. There was no love implied here, but there was still a genuine affection that he wished would stop refusing to disappear. A genuine affection that sooner or later _will_ transform into deeper feelings. There was a tight bond that, no matter how hard he tried, could never be broken. Countless times he had striven to convince himself it was only hormonal, he only wanted to fuck her hard, but the desire had never died down. He had consumed her over and over and over and she would always hold that unbearable clutch over his mind. He could see himself sink deeper into the sands.

He knew the signs.

In all of his life, he had been emotionally intimate with women only a handful of times, and had truly fallen in love only a couple of times. But that had been over fifteen years ago now. He had been young, he had been stupid…

The idea of having genuine feelings for her was unfathomable… She was so unbearably annoying. Unbearably weak, unbearably dependant, unbearably nice… Her unbending morals, her cheerful frame of mind, her insufferable kindness, her idiotic need to save the life of others, when what should only actually matter was saving her own… Her attitude was plainly repellent. She reminded him of the two years he had spent with those self-righteous fools from the S.T.A.R.S., "defending the weak and the oppressed", convincing themselves they really made a difference in this world. How pointless…

What could she possibly possess that drew him to her?

Emily was so close; she would be coming any minute now. The excitement blasted through her last barriers standing and she abdicated once more.

"Albert... I love you so much..."

Her words did not fall on deaf ears and he felt himself drifting into a dangerous territory. His thrusts suddenly accelerated as his consciousness slowly slithered out of his grasp. He felt an indisputable closeness to her, an impenetrable magnetism for her every time the words escaped her mouth. Yes, every time he felt more mesmerized, more enchanted, more contented. And more confused…

In an instant, she recognized the signs and realized he was coming, grunting and calling her name softly. The concept distracted her; he had never lost control of his orgasm before, he would always make sure she would reach her climax first or in same time... Did this mean he was already getting bored with her and was gradually losing interest in her own pleasure? It troubled her unexpectedly and her drive began fading at full speed, her own peak escaping her.

Once his orgasm was fully consumed, he carried on with his thrusting, but slowed down tremendously, the blood slowly leaving his hardened member. He might have lost temporarily control of his body, but he would never deny her her own deliverance. He was too proud for that and she looked too divine when she came to waste the occasion. His hand hurriedly slid down and found her vulnerable spot. His fingers rubbed with an unbridled frenzy, ensuring she would lose as little of her momentum as possible, using the full capacity of his enhanced velocity on her. She tossed her head violently, gasped hopelessly and squeezed his ass with the full strength of her hand.

"Albert... God..."

She heard his enticing chuckle, his mouth in close proximity to her ear. In an instant, she got right back to where she had been a minute ago, every muscle tensing in expectation.

"Are you getting close?" he asked flirtatiously, his low silky voice titillating every fiber of her body.

She nodded eagerly.

"Will you come for me, Miss Reynolds?"

"Don't call me that..." she requested ticked off.

"No?" he asked taunting her, rubbing his cheek against hers.

"Please, don't call me that..."

God, the pleading again... His hand slightly tightened around her neck, resisting the urge to extort it out of her mouth a second time.

"Will you come for me, Emily?"

"Yes..."

"I want to see your face tensing up in pleasure." His breath was coming warm on her cheek. His seductive voice was driving her completely crazy... His words were inspiring her to ascend promptly to her bliss. She was so close... "I _love_ watching you come, Emily! You're magnificent when you come, you're _amazingly_ sexy..."

_Sexy_.

"Albert... Don't stop..."

"No? You don't want me to stop?"

Alarm bells rang in her mind persuading her to brush him off rudely, but she refrained. She could not possibly help herself at the moment, she was so desperate for a release. For _his _release.

"No... Don't stop!"

The bitter aftertaste of disappointment lingered on his tongue. He truly believed his cheap trick would succeed. Enough with this ridiculous bashfulness. It was about time he demanded what he veritably desired, what was entitled to him.

"Beg me!" he whispered in her ear.

Her eyes narrowed at his strange request. What twisted game was he playing? Rebuked by his behavior, her delectation started declining considerably even with his skillful worship. She dreaded losing her momentum a second time, being so close to the goal. Her mouth opened, formed words in disdain.

"_Please_, Albert, don't stop!" she supplicated.

His seductive chuckle reached her ears and urged her to lose it completely. Every muscle bolstered against the intense wave of pleasure tearing through her as she reached her peak. Her head rubbed frantically against his shoulder, up until she surrendered and yanked it in the opposite direction desperate to carry herself through the overpowering rushes of ecstasy annihilating the entirety of her willpower and self-control. His other hand took hold of her face, cupped her chin then craned her neck, forcing her to meet his demanding gaze. He obstinately refused to lose one second of his favorite entertainment. His thumb possessively ran on her plump lips, then on her tongue. She bit on it as she moaned ardently, her eyes still tightly shut. He watched every muscle in her features strained in pleasure by his indelicate ministration, his tired member finding some of its vigor back from the delightful view. His fingers worked tirelessly to appropriately finish her off as he still thrust himself inside of her slowly. Her eyes wide opened and stared back at him with such intensity, the look on her face one of undeniable satisfaction. Her lips parted fully, his finger still in her mouth, and she expulsed helpless intermittent yelps of bliss as her hand rose to painfully dig her nails in the flesh of his forearm while the other was still clenching urgently at his buttocks.

Every small detail of her behavior was a pure marvel to contemplate and had not faded in interest in the least even after witnessing it almost fifty times already. He memorized every orgasm, every new one different than the previous. Every time, she was more exquisite, more sexy, more desirable…

When it was over, their eyes remained locked on one another for several minutes, as her head was still constrained in a way she could meet his gaze, the pain finally reaching her neck from the uncomfortable position now that the endorphins were not being released in her blood stream anymore.

God, she hated that look of his... How could she not fill her head with all kind of idiocies when he gave her such a fervent forsaken look? When his eyes were filled with so much contentment, softness, desire and fondness even through their own frightening uniqueness?

He finally broke the spell and his lips lingered on the nape of her neck, leaving a warm trail of kisses. She wished she could appreciate the tender affection to its full extent, but the expectation of abandonment would always hammer loudly in the back of her mind. Apart from the first few days after their first fluid exchange, not a single one of their passionate sexual intercourse had not been punctuated by his body ditching hers to pursue the true love of his life: his work. Every single time she had been left to herself once his needs had been satiated, she had been disposed of like a useless piece of trash. She wanted the comfort of his arms after love, she wanted the reassurance she meant more to him than a plastic doll with a few holes. But every time she was left empty-handed with nothing more than the distressing idea she could be replaced at any times, that he chose her purely because she was at his fingertips.

As if he had just read through her mind, he pulled out and moved away to collect the remaining of his clothes on the floor. Still bent down over the table, desperately trying to catch her breath, she walked to the bed and crashed on it, her legs exhausted from the previous session of lust. Not only her legs were exhausted, but her mind as well. Her gaze lingered on the man that chose to steal her heart and stomp on it inconsiderably.

He felt observed as he started dressing and turned to face her. Her eyes were slowly watering, filled with a distraught look of misery. Guilt slowly invaded him as he stared back at her. Maybe he had been a bit too rough with her… Maybe he should have kept some of his strange requests to himself. She was most likely getting the wrong idea out of his unusual dirty talk. Not that he actually wished for her to get to the bottom of his bizarre need to hear her express her love towards him. Maybe he did want her to get the wrong idea afterall…

His legs brought him next to the bed unconsciously, wanting to make up for his inappropriate affection. He bent down, gathered her in his arms and forced her to stand up.

His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb absently caressing her soft skin, running on her full lips.

"I promise I will get you new clothes to replace the ones that I ruined, dear heart," he said softly, looking at her fondly after leaving a warm kiss on her forehead.

_Dear heart_.

Her heart skipped, the tips of her fingers prickling in excitement. Had she heard him correctly? He had called her dear heart… He had never called her dear heart…

"Ok," she stammered feebly, dumbfounded.

His hand caressed her hair, his lips brushed hers softly, lovingly, to taste her sweetness a last time before moving into more serious business.

She stood still frozen for several minutes, her look absent as she drifted into her own world.

She smiled because he had called her dear heart… _His_ dear heart.

* * *

_To Tina : Good point about RE5, Wesker might have been annoying, but Capcom did treat us well fangirls with those shirtless shots! ;o Oh and thank you about the compliment on my writing of sex scenes. I do try to not make it sound too vulgar. Yes, it's an erotic fanfic, but I still don't want it to be like porn..._

_Next chapter, no more kinky scenes I promise. There was a real "overdose" of those in the last few chapters. I felt they were still necessary as this is how their relationship develops (through their sexual intercourse), but I will give it a break in the next chapter! XD_

_Don't be shy to review! :) I actually get a lot of visitors, but not many reviews except from my most faithful readers (Thanks guys! :D). I love to hear what people think. And I'd love to hear what some of you think of my OC. I mean, she is pretty damn pathetic afterall! XD_


	24. Chapter 24

_This chapter was a bit rushed and I'm not really satisfied with it, but that will have to do. Keep in mind I started this story before RE5 came out, so it might not perfectly follow the whole "Wesker children project" plot._

_I will also be taking a break from writting this story. I've been seriously torturing myself with this, taking things to heart. What should have been a fun hobby slowly became a source of stress for me. So before I drive myself completely crazy, I will stay away from writting this for a little while. I promise I won't be taking a whole year before I come back (like the last few times), I just need a couple months or so._

_Hopefully, the people reading this story will still be here in a few months when I come back. If not, thank you very much for taking interest in this story, and once again, thank you all for your wonderful reviews, I really appreciate it!_

* * *

**Day 214**

Emily was sitting on the bed, a strange tin box in front of her. Her fingers ran over the cover, taking in the texture of the box: outdated and washed out blue and green flowers were embossed into the metal. It felt extremely old, she estimated it was probably over thirty years old. She was burning to open it, but she felt a certain inhibition to do so. She knew perfectly this would be containing some of his personal belongings… She should not be looking at that, should she? She felt she would be invading his intimacy, stealing a shard of his identity. Wait, why should she care? He had stolen her honor, he had stripped her off of all her dignity, stepped on it rudely so many times that she was slowly losing her sanity. Why should she feel bad?

Convinced, she finally opened the box and looked at its contents.

Albert had been absent for the duration of the day. As the days passed, he progressively left her by herself for entire days. She knew nothing of his other projects, but she figured they were purely to push his own twisted agenda. In the last couple of weeks, she had spent at least half of her long working days slaving in the laboratory by herself. She assumed he now trusted her enough to stop monitoring her every move. Or maybe he knew she was so enamored with him that she would never dare disobeying him… She had not given him any reason to believe otherwise as she actually walked herself over to the laboratory every morning and returned to his quarters once the day was over like a good obedient pet would. The notion that he was using their new established passion to better manipulate her had crossed her mind a few times and distressed her.

This morning she had awoken to an empty bed and had yet to see him as of nine thirty at night. Bored out of her mind, she had taken it upon herself to go through his older personal Umbrella files she had never bothered examining in hopes of unraveling new relevant information. As she had absently browsed through the documents, she found the tin box hidden behind the files. Her curiosity had gotten the best of her and she had not been able to resist the urge of examining it.

Here it was now fully opened in front of her. One quick look through the contents of the box persuaded her that it had not been opened in several years. The smell coming out of it was almost retching, of decaying paper and rusting metal. She discarded the cover to better inspect the curious objects.

On top she found two books. The first one, _Crime and Punishment_ from _Dostoyevsky_, was worn out and had definitely been read several times in the past. Inside the cover, the name Albert Wesker was written and washed out slightly. The handwriting was clearly that of a young child. What peculiar reading material for a kid, she thought to herself. The second book, _Of mice and men_, looked just as beat up as the first one. She found the exact same handwriting inside the cover as in the previous book. Visibly, he had been quite an unusual child… At the age of eight, she had already been a talented and brilliant kid, but she had been playing with Barbies and dolls with her friends... She had definitely been far from reading heavy books on psychology and human nature that even at her age she would still slightly struggle to complete.

Under the books laid two pictures. Both were very old; battered and discolored. The first picture was the one of a handsome and tall blond man, standing next to a kid with the same fair hair. Emily was really taken aback by how Albert now looked the spitting image of his father… And how adorable he had looked as a child. In the picture he was wearing a navy blue school uniform. Even as a kid his mouth was forming the same hard and stiff line. Through the picture she had no difficulty reading the serious and solemn expression he painfully wore, which was very untypical for a kid of this age. Her childhood had been far to be all roses, but she still laughed and smiled like any other kids. It felt as if he had never changed and he still exhibited this expression even thirty years later. There was also a hint of sorrow in his glare. His father, wearing an expensive suit, looked austere and rigid, which definitely fit perfectly with the man Albert had grown up to be. For a second she truly felt bad for him. No wonder he had become such a terrible person...

As she took the second picture in her hand, her heart dropped to the bottom of her stomach. The picture was a portrait of a young and beautiful fair haired woman. Her features were delicate, her eyes a stunning and penetrating blue, her nose long and fine, her lips full. But her true beauty relied on her breathtaking smile. The shot was too close to make out the clothes she was wearing and, despite the fact the picture looked old, she had no idea if it had been taken forty years ago or fifteen years ago… This could be his mother, or this could be his wife… Or his true love he had lost a long time ago. Please, not the latter, she clang on sourly. Not that she was naive enough to believe he veritably loved her, but the idea of having a rival distressed her to some extent. Not wanting to linger any longer on the painful thought, she put the picture back in the tin box with the first one.

At the very bottom she found the last item that was in the box: an old broken watch. As she studied it more closely, she realized it must have cost a fortune. The word Rolex was embossed behind the glass face, the plating was clearly gold and there seemed to be tiny diamonds encrusted in the hands of the clock. However, the screen was severely cracked and the watch was no longer functioning, the hands stopped at seven thirty-two.

Emily suddenly felt observed, a cold shiver running down her spine. She turned around only to see him right behind her, standing as stoic as a Greek statue. She screamed, frightened, taken by surprise completely.

"God, Albert... You scared me..."

She knew perfectly what she had done was wrong, yet she chose to pretend she was innocent of any accusations. If he could steal her dignity so impudently, so could she.

For a few seconds she stared at him silently, assessing the situation. It felt as if he was frozen in time; not a single part of his body did so much as twitch. Not even his chest moved, as if he was holding his breath. His expression was unreadable under his omnipresent sunglasses. She had no idea whether he was looking at her or at the box. His mouth was the usual hard line, which for a slight second amused her as it reminded her of the picture of him as a child. Only for a slight second, as absolutely nothing of this situation could be taken lightly. She was still pondering whether he was mad or simply stupefied she had gone through his personal belongings. Knowing him, she would opt for the first option. Clueless as how to react to the situation, she simply stared at him, a certain uneasiness on her features.

Then, in a split second, everything was blurry. The sound of a knife cutting thought thick air resonated into her ears. She felt a pressure on her hands, the watch snatched out of them rudely. Her vision could only catch glimpses of a foggy mess. Everything happened so quickly, her brain had no time to process what befell. In two seconds it was over, in two seconds she realized she was now sitting alone on the bed, the box gone. She turned around only to see him fiddling with the book shelves, replacing the box in its proper spot.

Desperate to ensure she had not crossed the line, she walked to him. His back turned to her, she put her hand on his shoulder. She felt him freeze under her touch, the sensation of her hand provoking revulsions.

When he turned around to face her, his eyes flashed with a strange crimson light behind his sunglasses. God... What was that? She had never seen his eyes do that before... She was terrified... If the evidence had been missing earlier, she was now fully convinced of it : he _was_ mad...

"Never touch that box again." His voice was icy, chilled her every muscle. Never had she heard him so contained, so maniacally restrained. His voice had something so fake to it, so foisted. She was petrified.

She raised her hand and delicately pressed it against his chest. She needed to ascertain whether or not his reaction was the figment of her imagination, that he was not truthfully holding that grudge against her.

"I'm sorry..." she apologized feebly.

Not a single word came out of his mouth. Even through the sunglasses, she could see the penetrating gaze of fury he casted at her, the muscles along his jaw contracting from her words. It was unmistakably taking him everything to hinder himself.

"I didn't mean to pry."

"Don't you dare lie to me! At the very least have the decency to admit what you were doing," he let out hotly, his face twitched in a sneer. His hand took hold of her wrist, then jerked her hand away bluntly while shooting her a cold look of disgust.

His words cut through her heart like a sharp knife. He had been cruel and merciless hundreds of times with her in the past, but there was something so intense in the words he had just spoken. They felt as if he had unfolded the essence of his mind, as if some of his own feelings had been put into words and had escaped his mouth unwillingly. They felt nothing superficial, nothing distant nor composed like his usual threats would. They felt genuinely his.

"Albert, I'm sorry..." she pleaded.

He turned his back to her and walked away slowly. She followed him, desperate to make up for her mistake. She pressed her hand on his back.

"Albert, please..."

He stopped in his track and kept his back to her then spoke with a harrowing remoteness.

"Don't touch me."

"Albert..."

"I said, don't touch me," he repeated in disdain.

Feeling discarded harshly for a misstep blown out of proportion, she ran to the bed and collapsed on it as tears started running down her cheeks. He deliberately paid her no attention and sat on his famous leather chair to better busy himself with work. Or tried to anyway.

Since they had first made love, this was the first time they had fought. Wait, was she out of her mind? Fighting? She made it sound like they were actually a couple… Rather, since they had shared their first fluid exchange, this was the first time he had rebuked her so ruthlessly. The insecurity gradually devoured her already fragile sanity and the stress overwhelmed her entirely. What if he never forgave her? What if this was the only fight he would allow to come to existence and resolved to dispose of her once the wrath dissipated? Her needy feelings caused her to take everything to heart, to be more affected by his every threat, mood swing and cruel jests.

Hopeless, she cried herself dry on the bed for what appeared to be an eternity. Not even once did his gaze dart upon her. She watched him the whole time as he was completely captured by his work. He looked as he had looked earlier; as stoic as a statue. The pages of the book were turned almost with a maniacal cadence; one page read what felt like every other minute. Every time a page was flipped, the pain seared through her and she felt a new torrent of tears. Every time a page was flipped, the deadly blow knocked the breath out of her, the indifference towards her killing her slowly. Not that she truly believed he would care to spare her sensibility. Only a few months ago, she had been handcuffed to the bed headboard and left to herself every night as his captive. But now that she was madly in love, she could not stop her heart from hoping to be treated accordingly, that was, with respect.

The guilt also sustained her complete desolation. Yes, she should have never pried. But she had only wished to learn more about the man she had hopelessly fallen for. What could be so wrong about that?

Tired of being ignored and left to herself crying uselessly, she decided a warm bath might actually sooth her mind. As she passed him to go to the bathroom, another page was turned in another attempt to ignore her rudely.

Happy to be rid of the pathetic sight of her unstoppable annoying sobs, he closed the book he had feigned reading. He had undeniably been unable to concentrate on reading even one word the book had contained, but he obstinately refused to let her discern the troubling state induced by the sight of his painful memories.

He had quickly realized that for every page he had flipped, she was crying more vigorously. So he had taken a cruel pleasure into watching her reactions every time the noise of the fluttering paper was heard. Rightly so that by the end, he had purposely produced as much noise as the paper could bear without ripping just to drive the knife deeper into the wound. Who did she think she was to give herself the license to look through his most intimate memories? Who did she think she was to violate his intimacy so impudently? Those were his and his only. He was more than satisfied to make her suffer and punish her for her insubordinations. However, showing his torment was a bad maneuver; he gave her on a silver platter the certification that those memories were truly affecting him. Those were his and his only. That little display of his could give her power, control. That was not a possibility. The less she knew about him, the better he could control slipping into a dangerous territory. He thanked his usual self control for not releasing his wrath upon her and further prove his actual distress for those personal objects that represented a part of him he had banished to the deepest corner of his brain.

Lost in his own thoughts, he almost missed the sound of the door reopening. He hurriedly opened the book back and randomly picked a page to read. He watched her pass by him from the corner of his eye as she was simply dressed with a towel.

Emily had hoped her half hour bath might have given him the proper time to cool down, but she had apparently been wrong. She decided it was about time to take matter into her hands.

As she pondered over her choice of garment for the night, she admired the expensive lingerie in the small cabinet he had provided her with. Those had never been hers but rather a present from him, if one could truly call it a present. One morning, she had woken up and as she had been picking underwear for the day, she had noticed several new pieces of undergarment niftily folded in the drawer. Dozens of pieces. Bras, panties, one piece. Lace, tulle, satin, silk, name it. Expensive fine European lingerie. From her own experience, some were handmade and worth over five hundred dollars. She had no clue what to make of it as he had never hinted towards the mention of it, they had just magically appeared in her drawer. But as she had peered through the cabinet and looked at the pieces, she had felt his insistent stare on her the whole time.

At that moment, she had pictured him going through the store to buy her lingerie himself. The mental image was quite amusing, and quite improbable. Clearly, he had sent one of his subordinates for the task, although, she wondered what that person had thought of the rather unusual request. Maybe he had assumed the task himself afterall as all of them seemed to suit a preconceived notion she believed he held of her. Some looked very dirty; black and bright red and extremely explicit. He appreciated her fieriness and wildness in bed and the feistiness she sometimes demonstrated. Others were white, lacy and delicate. He also liked to nourish the idea that he was tarnishing her innocence and virtues. The very first time she had discovered them, she had been rather flattered and willingly joined in the game, picking a white set so he could fantasize about the chastity of her mind.

Sometimes she felt like a vulgar puppet he dressed up for his own amusement. Other times it made her feel desirable and she used it against him, to have him at her mercy. Right now she chose to wear that old spaghetti strap pajama with the shorts, because she knew it was his favorite, even if its value did not even represent the tenth of the expensive garment he had purchased for her. Maybe it was her way to taunt him so he would finally pay her some attention. Maybe it was her way to reach out for him so he would finally move on. Or maybe it was simply her way to apologize…

Fully dressed up in her own enticing attire, she walked to him with her feline gait, the one she had allowed him the chance to admire only a handful of times. He looked behind his sunglasses, feigned his total disinterest and pretended to still be reading. She purposively rubbed her leg against his, then climbed seductively on the chair, both legs on each side of his, straddling him. She seized the book in his hands, snatched his sunglasses then put both down on the desk next to him. A certain annoyance lingered on his features, but his curiosity got the best of him and he refrained from scolding her gruffly. She grabbed his hands, one in each of hers, and placed them on her butt cheeks. She then pressed her full weight on his chest, raised slightly above him.

She bit her lip seductively and flashed at him the naughtiest look she had ever thrown at him. She was generally so timid, so reserved. But sometimes she had a truly unnerving hotness and wildness to her. One look at her dirty expression and the anger dissipated as vividly as it appeared.

"I think I've been a _very_ bad girl," she purred, her eyes darting back and forth from one eye to the other their face mere inches apart. "Don't you think I deserve a punishment?" she smiled proudly. The corner of his mouth raised and he returned the tempting smile. His hands squeezed firmly the cheeks, then he collapsed his lips with hers, his tongue eagerly searching hers.

And he proceeded to punish her _very_ harshly.

* * *

_Bang. Thump._

_The man lies on the expensive carpet, his blood gushed wildly, staining the carpet permanently. _

_Lub-dub_

_A woman is screaming hysterically, the words are hard to comprehend, spoken in a state of complete panic._

_"Please… Al…"_

_Lub-dub_

_"Plea… It's not… It just hap…"_

_"Shut up!"_

_Lub-dub_

_The other man punches her violently, she collapses on the bed._

_Lub-dub_

_"Please… Sto..."_

_"…fucking who…"_

_Lub-dub_

_His hands encircle her throat as he still screams profanity at her to the top of his lungs. _

_Lub-dub_

_He is in a state of uncontrollable rage working with exertion to drain her dying breath out of her. She slaps him, tries desperately to scream, to ask him to stop, but not a word will come out of her throat. Her legs wiggle and twitch in hope to push him off of her, but nothing prevails. _

_Lub-dub_

_After several unbearably long seconds, she stops struggling and her eyes roll in the back of her head. Even if she is clearly dead, the man still strangles her vehemently lost in his own wrath._

_Lub-dub_

_"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"_

* * *

Wesker abruptly woke up from his distressing nightmare, the feeling surrounding him so violent that his body had forced him to sit up in order to free himself from the troubling vision and save a piece of his sanity intact. He looked down at himself only to see his body covered in sweat. His breath was panicked, the air going through his pipes having some severe difficulty to reach his lungs.

"Albert, are you alright?"

Her voice came distant in his ears and it took him several seconds to make out his surroundings and realize they were both in bed. Undoubtedly concerned for him, she had sat up as well and had rested her hand on his upper arm.

"I'm fine," he forced his voice to come out cold and controlled as he was still struggling to catch his breath.

"You were stirring a lot. Did you have a nightmare?"

"I said I'm fine," he snapped before lying back in the bed.

She judged it better to spare him the usual inquisition and instead snuggled him, providing him with comfort in her own fashion. She watched his eyes close and believed he would fall back asleep in a matter of a few minutes. Duped, she closed her eyes as well and drifted into a deep sleep.

Once he felt her breath settle, he opened his eyes back. The last thing he wanted was for her to question him further. Why was he suddenly having those nightmares again? Was it the box? Did peeking through its contents bring back memories he had worked so tirelessly to permanently push to the back on his mind? Why had she touched this forsaken thing? Damn her…


	25. Author's Note

_This isn't an actual update, sorry..._

_I just wanted to apology for taking forever to update. Rest assured that I didn't give up on this story in the least, it's simply that my life has been crazy for the last few months. I've had barely any time for myself and when I did, other things in my life were prioritized over this story and will still be for a couple of months._

_I am truly driven to finish this story and will work on it as soon as I have some time. Although, I am hoping to first make a few minor changes to it to improve it. The story and chapters will stay the same, but I am hoping to make it "cleaner" and more fluid. This story was started 7 years ago afterall and my english has improved tremendously since then, and also my view on life and perspective have changed slightly. So this story needs some rework!_

_Again, really sorry for the ridiculously long wait and thank you all for your patience!_

_**IMPORTANT** **NOTE**: I'm looking for a beta reader. Somebody that master the English language (so somebody's whose mother tongue is English). I'm mostly interested in somebody that will correct my English mistakes and help me pick the proper words to describe perfectly what I'm trying to say (which can be hard for me as English is my second language). Of course, your actual opinion on the fic content will be appreciated (but not necessarily retained). If you're interested, please drop me a PM. Thank you!_


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